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M. I.
169
We 'ave got 'old of the needful—you will be told by and bye;
Wait till you've 'eard the Ikonas, spoke to the old M. I.!
Mount—march, Ikonas! Stand to your 'orses again!
Mop off the frost on the saddles, mop up the miles on the plain.
Out go the stars in the dawnin', up goes our dust to the sky,
Walk—:trot, Ikonas! Trek jou,[1] the old M. I.!
- ↑ Get ahead.
