The Dead-Beat

 He dropped, -- more sullenly than wearily,
Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,
And none of us could kick him to his feet;
Just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
-- Didn't appear to know a war was on,
Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.

"I'll do 'em in," he whined, "If this hand's spared,
I'll murder them, I will.
"

 A low voice said,
"It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone,
Dreaming of all the valiant, that AREN'T dead:
Bold uncles, smiling ministerially;
Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun
In some new home, improved materially.

It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun.
"

We sent him down at last, out of the way.

Unwounded; -- stout lad, too, before that strafe.

Malingering? Stretcher-bearers winked, "Not half!"

Next day I heard the Doc.
's well-whiskied laugh:
"That scum you sent last night soon died.
 Hooray!"

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