RICHARD ALDINGTON
��Be trained, fitted with a uniform and a gun,
Say good-bye to your girl.
And go off to the front
WhistHng, " It's a long way to Tipperary."
It's good to march forty miles a day,
Carrying ninety-one pounds on your back,
To eat good coarse food, get blistered, tired out,
wounded, Thirst, starve, fight like a devil {i.e., like you an' me, Jonathan), With the Maxims zip-zipping And the shrapnel squealing. And the howitzers rumbling like the traffic In Picca-
dilly.
Civilization ? —
Jonathan, if you could hear them
Whistling the Marseillaise or Marching Through
Georgia, You'd want to go too. Twenty thousand a day, Jonathan ! Perhaps you're more civilized just now than we are. Perhaps we've only forgotten civilization for a
moment. Perhaps we're really fighting for peace. And after all it will be more fun afterwards — More fun for the poets and the painters — When the cheering's all over
�� �
