Classic Poem

I want a word with you, Thomas Cornstalk,
Before you ride, or before you walk;
And also with you , Jack, before you caulk
Or shiver your timbers. No! you won't balk;
But you haven't begun by a very long chalk;
And I want to have a serious talk,
Though I know you are worth a million.

Whatever you do or wherever you go,
Or whether you find it swift or slow,
Or whatever you know, or you do not know,
Blow, if you will, or you have to blow
For the sake of the land you have left " below "
(Where the gums will still continue to grow) —
But avoid the word " Civilian "

I heard it several times to-day,
And it struck my ears in a grating way.
Like a newchum constable from Hay
(Or from Woolloomooloo or Watson's Bay)
Who was " bate last night " for a sly-grog " lay " ,
And so tells his Nibs in an off-hand way
Of certain vague " Civilyuns " .

'Twas Magistrate Isaacs — or Donaldson,
Or Payton, or Barnett — or, anyway, one
Or the other of them — who used to say
In a very short and decided way
That " Citizen " was the proper term,
And he hated the word " Civilian " .

Tommy Cornstalk! I am not one
Who'll turn you down when the war is done
(You'll find a few — and it won't be fun) —
But I'd rather be sharp ere the war's begun.
And there's many a sprig of an office clerk,
And many a young wharf lumper,
And several bards who were out of work,
And others who only enlisted to shirk
(As they fondly imagined) responsible " lurk " ,
From Melbourne to Brisbane, and Sydney to Bourke,
And more than one counter-jumper,
Who'd scarce slipped into their uniforms,
When they slipped out the word " Civilian " .

There have been many from Hannibal down,
Who fought like fiends for Republic or Crown
Or home or village or city or town
Or " Right " , or religion, from scholar to clown —
The smith in his apron, the priest in his gown.
The people of Paris who fought to be free,
And likewise the peasants of Brittany,
Who fought as bravely for Tyranny
(As Hugo remarks in his Ninety-Three)
Were most of 'em mongrel " Civilians " .

And now! Tommy Cornstalkses, God bless you all!
And Long Live the Empire! and May Tyrants Fall! —
But, always remember that stuck in the ruck
There are many, like you, who have plenty of pluck,
But, lacking the strength or the youth — or the luck —
Got the chuck!
They didn't buck,
But, tired and dusty and misunderstood,
Are doing their best for the General Good.

And, say, Tommy Cornstalk, how would you have felt
Ere you got the order of Khaki and Belt,
Or before you had any idea of a war,
If someone you'd never set eyes on before
Swaggered into a bar
And referred to you as " Civilian " ?
I don't know exactly, but, anyhow,
The chances are you'd have " stoushed the Cow " .
Have the pride that in Spain is Castilian!
Call us Citizens now —
Where " Blokes " , " Fellers " , " Coves " , or plain " Blanks " won't allow
For distinction — but never " Civilian " .