Danny Deever

D

Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?' said Files-on-Parade.

‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes you look so white, so white?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,

The Regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day;

They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,

An’ they're hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s bitter cold, it's bitter cold,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes that front-rank man fall down?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,

They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;

An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—

O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin!’

‘’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,

For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;

Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,

While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What’s that so black agin the sun?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What’s that that whimpers over’ead?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play,

The Regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;

Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,

After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

59

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