I had me fit of longin’ on the night the Ger-
     mans came,
All breathin’ lioke a gas attack.  The air
     was halcholic. 
We smelt ’em in the darkness, ‘n’ our rage
     went up in flame. 
It was envy, squealin’ envy, put the ginger
     in the frolic. 
We shot ’em full of spelter, then went over it
     to spite
The swines what drunk the liquor that was
     ours by common right.

“If this ain’t stopped, ‘n’ quick,” sez we,
     “there won’t be left a drop
To celebrate the vict’ry when we capture
     their position.” 
I’m prowlin’ blind, when sharp there comes a
     fond, familiar plop-
Swung round a post, a German in a pitiful
     condition
Looms over me.  He’s sprung a cork, and
     shales a flask on high,
‘N’ sings of beer that touchin’ it would make
     a butcher cry.

Sez he:  “Berloffed kamarid, you haf some
     drinks mit you.” 
I meant to spike him where he waved,
     but altered me intention. 
‘N’ “If you put it thus,” sez I, “I don’t
     care if I do.” 
We had a drink together.  There’s a tem-
     por’y suspension
Of hostilities to sample contraband ‘n’ other
     stuff
In the enemy’s possession.  Which I think
     he’s had enough.

That Hun had thirty pockets, ‘n’ he’d stowed
     a flask in each,
‘N’ presently I’m thinkin’ I could love him
     like a brother. 
He’s talkin’ fond ‘n’ friendly in outlandish
     parts of speech. 
“You’re prisoner of war,” I sez; ‘n’ then
     we had another. 
Ten flasks he pours into his hat, ‘n’ fills it
     to the brim,
‘N’ weeps ‘n’ sez his frau she will be waitin’
     up for him.

We drink each other’s health, ‘n’ know no
     henmity nor fear. 
I see I’ve got to pinch him, but he’s out to
     do his div. in,
‘N’ don’t care if he don’t go home till day-
     light doth appear. 
Sez he:  “I pud you home to bed upside dot
     ’ouse you live in.” 
He shakes his finger in me eye:  “Mein friendt,
     you’re preddy trunk!”
Then arm in arm through No Man’s land we
     does a social bunk.

There’s Fear afoot.  Comes more than once
     the glug of sudden death. 
We’re rockin’ fine ‘n’ careless where the
     rifle fire is breakin’,
‘N’ singin’ most uproar’ous, in the bomb’s
     disgustin’ breath,
Of girls, ‘n’ drink, ‘n’ cheerful sprees, ‘n’
     ‘Herman thinks he’s takin’
A cobber home to somewhere in an subbub
     damp ‘n’ dim,
Whereas I know fer certain it is me is takin’
     him.

Somehow, sometime, I lands him where he’s
     safely put to bed. 
I wake nex’ day, ‘n’ holy smoke!  I’m pri-
     soner with the German. 
Me mouth is like an ashpan, there’s hot fish-
     bolts in me head,
‘N’ through the barb-wire peerin’ is me
     foreigh cobber ’Erman. 
“Ve capdure each lasd nighd,” sez he “you
     home haf bring me, boss.” 
For bravery in takin’ me, he got the Iron
     Cross!