The Two Majors
An excellent soldier who's worthy the name
Loves officers dashing and strict:
When good, he's content with escaping all blame,
When naughty, he likes to be licked.
He likes for a fault to be bullied and stormed,
Or imprisoned for several days,
And hates, for a duty correctly performed,
To be slavered with sickening praise.
No officer sickened with praises his CORPS
So little as MAJOR LA GUERRE -
No officer swore at his warriors more
Than MAJOR MAKREDI PREPERE.
Their soldiers adored them, and every grade
Delighted to hear their abuse;
Though whenever these officers came on parade
They shivered and shook in their shoes.
For, oh! if LA GUERRE could all praises withhold,
Why, so could MAKREDI PREPERE,
And, oh! if MAKREDI could bluster and scold,
Why, so could the mighty LA GUERRE.
"No doubt we deserve it - no mercy we crave -
Go on - you're conferring a boon;
We would rather be slanged by a warrior brave,
Than praised by a wretched poltroon!"
MAKREDI would say that in battle's fierce rage
True happiness only was met:
Poor MAJOR MAKREDI, though fifty his age,
Had never known happiness yet!
LA GUERRE would declare, "With the blood of a foe
No tipple is worthy to clink."
Poor fellow! he hadn't, though sixty or so,
Yet tasted his favourite drink!
They agreed at their mess - they agreed in the glass -
They agreed in the choice of their "set,"
And they also agreed in adoring, alas!
The Vivandiere, pretty FILLETTE.
Agreement, you see, may be carried too far,
And after agreeing all round
For years - in this soldierly "maid of the bar,"
A bone of contention they found!
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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