Classic Poem

It was Archie Ward of Manly and also Waverley,
And several other suburbs by the Harbour and the sea;
And each place that he dishonoured by his presence when he called
Was in turn extremely anxious to be rid of Archibald.
He'd neglect his wife and children,
And his family disgrace —
And they used to say a bullet would have flattened on his face.

He'd drink whisky by the gallon till he was whisky mad,
And, recovering, repentant that his life had been so bad;
He would take down trusting tradesmen in " villages " like these
" To fulfil " — as Archie put it — " his responsibilities " .
Then he'd dress the wife and kids,
And he'd do what duty bids
And bamboozle some evangelist to lend him Heaven's keys.

He was selling things, was Archie, and was always in the swim:
Whisky, Prayer-books, South Sea Islands, it was all the same to him —
He might be kicked downstairs one day by some-one who was vexed,
And go up and sell the party half a chest of tea the next,
With a musty ham beside,
For the coming Christmastide —
He could nearly always " get them " with a joke or with a text.

Archie went from bad to worse, and he went it at a bat;
He did time for false pretences and for something worse than that;
And his wife went to her Mother, who, as mothers do, you know,
From the first year of their marriage always said she " told her so " —
And, as legal mothers do,
Worked to make her words come true —
And the separated Archie went as low as he could go.

Now, I don't know how he did it, nor does any man alive —
He was fifty-three and must have sworn that he was forty-five;
But he vanished shortly after one long last drink-lurid storm,
And he turned up one fine morning " Corporal Hart " , in uniform!
I was glad I'd never cut him
Like the rest. — But, anyhow,
His little wife and daughters, they could hold their heads up now!

But, at canvassing the hopeless he'd been never known to fail
(And his " cheek " would stop a bullet, and he had been drilled — in gaol).
His last chance had come to him at the end of his last spree,
And he sold himself to Glory as he'd sell a chest of tea.
O his wife's face was aglow
On the day we saw them go.
(And he told me then that he would bring me back the Kaiser's mo'.)

Scarcely three short months had vanished, and before we were aware
Came a pencilled scrawl from some place that he called " Sarah Bare "
And it said the Turks had got him (and they had, without a doubt)
And to tell his wife and people that the long bill was wiped out.
There's a grave by Sari Bair
That is neither deep nor wide,
And a blackguard's resting there,
Who died where heroes died —
And I wish tonight that I had such another one beside.