Well, If I Am A Man, A

You May Talk O' Gin And Beer When You're Quartered Safe Out 'ere, An' You're Sent To Penny-fights An' Aldershot It; But When It Comes To Slaughter You Will Do Your Work On Water, An' You'll Lick The Bloomin' Boots Of 'im That's Got It.

If You Can Wait And Not Be Tired Of Waiting, Or Being Lied About, Don't Deal In Lies. Or Being Hated, Don't Give Way To Hating, And Yet Don't Look Too Good, Nor Talk Too Wise.

Single Men In Barricks Don't Grow Into Plaster Saints.

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening.

Now India Is A Place Beyond All Others Where One Must Not Take Things Too Seriously—the Midday Sun Always Excepted.