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Edward Dyson - In Hospital
Work rating: Low

It is thirty moons since I slung me hook 
   From the job at the hay and corn, 
Took me solemn oath, `n` I straight forsook 
All the ways of life, dinkum ways `n` crook, 
`N` the things on which it was good to look 
   Since the day when a bloke was born. 

I was give a gun, `n` a bay`net bright, 
   `N` a `ell of a swag iv work, 
N` I dipped my lid to the big pub light, 
To the ole push cobbers I give “Good-night!” 
Slipped a kiss to `er, `n` I wings me flight 
   For a date with the demon Turk. 

Ez we pricked our heel to the skitin` drum. 
   Square `n` all, I was gone a mile. 
With a perky air, `n` a `eart ez glum 
Ez a long-dead cod, I was blind `n` dumb, 
Holdin` do the tear that was bound to come 
   At a word or a friendly smile. 

Now I`ve seen it all, I may come out dead, 
   But I `ope never more a fool. 
I have scorched, `n` thirsted, `n` froze, `n` 
      bled, 
`N` bin taught the use of the human head, 
For when all is done `n` when all is said, 
   War`s a wonderful sort of school. 

I`ve bin taught to get `em `n` never fret, 
   `N` to sleep without dreamin` when 
We have swarmed a slope with the red rain wet; 
I `ave learned a pile, `n` I`m learnin` yet; 
But the thing I`ve learned that I won`t forget 
   Is a way of not judgin` men. 

We was shot down there in a dirty place— 
   From the mansions `n` huts we`d come— 
`N` of all the welter the `ardest case 
Was a little swine with a dimpled face, 
Who a year ago was dispensin` lace 
   In a Carlton em-por-ee-um. 

In the moochin` days of me giddy youth, 
   When I kidded meself a treat, 
I`d have pass him one ez a gooey. `Strewth 
On the track iv Huns, he`s a eight-day sleuth, 
`N` at tearin` into `em nail `n` tooth 
   He`s got Julius Caesar beat! 

I ain`t proud with him ; `n` I`m modest, too, 
   When dividin` a can of swill 
With a Algy boy from the wilds iv Kew. 
Cos I do not know what the cow will do 
When a Fritzy offers to sock me through; 
   `N` it`s good to be livin` still. 

There you are, you see! Oh! it makes you sore, 
   When a bloke you despised at `ome 
In them pifflin` days of the years before 
Takes a odds-on chance with the God of War, 
`N` he tows you out with his left lung tore, 
   `N` a crack in his bleedin` dome! 

`Twas a lad called Hugh done ez much for me. 
   (He has curls `n` he`s fair `n` slim). 
Well, I mind the days in the Port when we 
Puts it over Hugh coz we don`t agree 
With his tone `n` style, `n` my foot was free 
   When the push made a hack of him. 

Now he`s paid me back. I had struck a snag, 
   And must creep through the battle spume 
All a flamin` age, with a grinnin` jag 
In me thigh, for water, or jest a fag. 
Like a crippled snake I was forced to drag 
   Shattered flesh till the crack of doom. 

When they saw me he was the one who came. 
   `N` he give me a raffish grin 
`N` a swig. I wasn`t so bad that shame 
Didn`t get me then, for the lad was lame. 
They had passed him his, but his `art was game. 
   `N` he coughed ez he brought me in. 

I have tackled God on me bended knees, 
   So He`ll save him alive `n` whole, 
For the sake of one who he thinks he sees 
When the Nurse`s hands bring a kind of ease; 
And I thank God, too, for the things like these 
   That have give me a sort of soul. 

There are Percies, Algies, `n` Claudes I`ve met 
   Who could take it `n` come agen, 
While the bullets flew in a screamin` jet. 
What in pain, `n` death, and in mire `n` sweat 
I `ave learned from them that I won`t forget 
   Is a way of not judgin` men.
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