Part 1 — WAR'S HORRORS

I hate to talk of a Regular Without the proper respect; But given a chance to criticize, There's a bunch that I'd select. And they are those musical miscreants, Those malefactors of noise, Those rookie Second Cavalrymen, The amateur bugle boys. They blow retreat, And from head to feet Coagulate your spine; Or at company drill They send a chill A-shivering down the line. Just try to salute To their twittering toot, Their yodeling, rasping groan, Their blithering bleat, And you'll swear that they beat The Hindu quarter-tone, By Gad! The Hindu quarter-tone.