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Edward Dyson - Marshal Neigh, V.C.
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He came from tumbled country past the 
   humps of Buffalo 
Where the snow sits on the mountain `n` the 
   Summer aches below. 
He`d a silly name like Archie. Squattin` 
   sullen on the ship, 
He knew nex` to holy nothin` through the gor- 
   forsaken trip. 

No thoughts he had of women, no refreshin` 
   talk of beer; 
If he`d battled, loved, or suffered vital facts 
   did not appear; 
But the parsons and the poets couldn`t teach 
   him to discourse 
When it come to pokin` guyver at a pore, 
   deluded horse. 

If nags got sour `n` kicked agin the rules of 
   things at sea, 
Artie argued matters with `em, `n` he`d kid 
   `em up a tree. 
“Here`s a pony got hystericks. Pipe the word 
   for Privit Rowe,” 
The Sargint yapped, `n` all the ship came 
   cluckin` to the show. 

He`d chat him confidential, `n` he`d pet `n` 
   paw the moke; 
He`d tickle him, `n` flatter him, `n` try him 
   with a joke; 
`N` presently that neddy sobers up, `n` sez 
   “Ive course, 
Since you puts it that way, cobber, I will be 
   a better horse.” 

There was one pertickler whaler, known 
   aboard ez Marshal Neigh, 
Whose monkey tricks with Privit Rowe was 
   better than a play. 
He`d done stunts in someone`s circus, `n` he 
   loved a merry bout, 
Whirlin` in to bust his boiler, or to kick 
   the bottom out. 

Rowe he sez: “Well, there`s an idjit! Oh, 
   yes, let her whiz, you beauty! 
Where`s yer `orse sense, little feller? Where`s 
   yer bloomin` sense iv duty? 
Well, you orter serve yer country!” Then 
   there`d come a painful hush, 
`N` that nag would drop his head-piece, `n`, so 
   `elp me cat, he`d blush. 

We was heaped ashore be Suez, rifle, horse, 
   `n` man, `n` tent, 
Where the land is sand, the water, `n` the 
   gory firmament. 
We had intervals iv longin`, we had sweaty 
   spells of work 
In the ash-pit iv Gehenner, dumbly waitin` 
   fer the Turk. 

We goes driftin` on the desert, nothin` doin`, 
   nothin` said, 
Till we get to think we`re nowhere, `n` arf 
   fancy we are dead, 
`N` the only `uman interest on the red hori- 
   zon`s brim 
Is Marshal Neigh`s queer faney fer the lad 
   that straddles him. 

Plain-livin`s nearly, bored us stiff. The Major 
   calls on Rowe 
To devise an entertainment. What his 
   charger doesn`t know 
Isn`t in the regulations. Him `n` Rowe is 
   brothers met, 
`N` that horse`s sense iv humor is the oddest 
   fancy yet. 

But the Turk arrives one mornin` on the outer 
   edge iv space. 
From back iv things his guns is floppin` kegs 
   about the place, 
`N` Privit Artie Rowe along with others iv 
   the force 
Goes pig-rootin` inter battle, holdin` converse 
   with his horse. 

Little Abdul`s quite a fighter, `n` he mixes it 
   with skill; 
But the Anzacs have him snouted,, `n`, oh, 
   ma, he`s feelin` ill. 
They wake the all-fired desert, `n` the land for 
   ever dead 
Is alive `n` fairly creepin`, and the skies are 
   droppin` lead. 

When they`ve got the Ot`man goin`, little 
   gaudy hunts begin. 
It fer us to chiv His Trousers. `n` to round 
   the stragglers in. 
Cuttin` closest to the raw, `n` swearin` lovin` 
   all the way, 
Is Artie from Molinga on his neddy, Marshal 
   Neigh. 

We`re pursuin` sundry camels turkey-trottin` 
   anyhow 
With the carriage iv an emu `n` the action iv 
   a cow, 
When a sand dune busts, `n` belches arf a 
   million iv the foe. 
They uncork a blanky batt`ry, `n` it`s, Allah, 
   let her go! 

We`re not stayin` dinner, thank you. Lie 
   along yer horse `n` yell, 
While the bullets pip yer britches `n` you 
   sniff the flue of Hell. 
Here it is that Artie takes it good `n` solid in 
   the crust, 
He dives from out the saddle, `n` is swallered 
   in the dust. 

I got through `n` saw them pointin` where the 
   Marshal faced the band. 
He was goin` where we came from, sniffin` 
   bodies in the sand. 
Till he found Rowe snugglin` under, took him 
   where his pants was slack, 
`N` be all the Asiatic gods, he brought his 
   soldier back! 

With a bullet in his buttock, `n` a drill hole 
   in his ear, 
He dumped Artie down among us. Square 
   `n` all, how did we cheer! 
There`s no medals struck fer neddies, but we 
   rule there orter be, 
`N` the pride iv all the Light Horse is old 
   Marshal Neigh, V.C.
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