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Robert W Service - A Pot Of Tea
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You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier`s rosy gleam;
    You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay`nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
    The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You`re awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin` of your lot;
    You scoff the blushin` `alf of it, so rich and rippin` `ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
    God bless the man that first discovered Tea!

Since I came out to fight in France, which ain`t the other day,
    I think I`ve drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
    To rum they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I`ve gurgled pints of cham;
    I`ve swilled down mugs of cider till I`ve felt a bloomin` dam;
But `struth! they all ain`t in it with the vintage of Assam:
    God bless the man that first invented Tea!

I think them lazy lumps o` gods wot kips on asphodel
    Swigs nectar that`s a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o` guns a-grillin` down in `ell
    Could `ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I`m off to battle, which is `ell and `eaven too;
    And if I don`t give some poor bloke a sexton`s job to do,
To-night, by Fritz`s campfire, won`t I `ave a gorgeous brew
    (For fightin` mustn`t interfere with Tea).
To-night we`ll all be tellin` of the Boches that we slew,
    As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
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