Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?

Oh, the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin'-fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,

An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat-jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,

An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud

Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd

Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!

On the road to Mandalay

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,

She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo !"

With 'er arm upon my shoulder, an' 'er cheek agin my cheek, We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak

In the sludgy, squdgy creek,

Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!

On the road to Mandalay—

But that's all shove be'ind me-long ago an' fur away, An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', why, you won't 'eed nothin' else."

No! you won't 'eed nothin' else

But them spicy garlic smells

An' the sunshine an' the palm trees an' the tinkly temple bells!

On the road to Mandalay

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Though I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the
Strand,

An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby'and-

Law! wot do they understand?

I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay

Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the

worst,

Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst;

For the temple bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea—

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the old Flotilla lay,

With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!

Oh, the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin'-fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China crost the

Bay!

Rudyard Kipling [1865–

BALLADS OLD AND NEW

THOMAS THE RHYMER

TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a lady bright,

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fine;
At ilka tett o' her horse's mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low down on his knee:
"Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth could never be."

"O no, O no, Thomas!" she said,
"That name does not belang to me;
I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.

"Harp and carp, Thomas!" she said,
"Harp and carp along wi' me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your body I will be."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten me."

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,

All underneath the Eildon Tree.

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said;
"True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;

And ye maun serve me seven years,
Through weal or woe as may chance to be."

She's mounted on her milk-white steed;
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,

The steed gaed swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on,

The steed gaed swifter than the wind; Until they reached a desert wide,

And living land was left behind.

"Light down, light down now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee;

Abide ye there a little space,

And I will show you ferlies three.

"O see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset wi' thorns and briers? That is the Path of Righteousness, Though after it but few inquires.

"And see ye not yon braid, braid road, That lies across the lily leven?

That is the Path of Wickedness,

Though some call it the Road to Heaven.

"And see yet not yon bonny road,

That winds about the fernie brae?

That is the Road to fair Elfland,

Where thou and I this night maun gae.

"But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see;

For speak ye word in Elfyn-land,

Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie."

O they rade on, and farther on,

And they waded rivers abune the knee;
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, They waded through red blude to the knee; For a' the blude that's shed on earth

Rins through the springs o' that countrie.

Syne they came to a garden green,

And she pu'd an apple frae a tree: "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;

It will give thee tongue that can never lee."

"My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas he said; "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!

I neither dought to buy nor sell,

At fair or tryst where I might be.

"I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair lady!"
"Now haud thy peace!" the lady said,
"For as I say, so must it be."

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
And till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

Unknown

KEMP OWYNE

HER mother died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warst woman

That ever lived in Christendom.

She served her wi' foot and hand,
In everything that she could dee,

Till once, in an unluckly time,

She threw her in o'er Craigy's sea.

Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel,
And all my sorrows lie with thee;
Till Kemp Owyne come o'er the sea,
And borrow you with kisses three."