Army Headquarters
Old is the song that I sing—Old as my unpaid bills—Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bringMen at dak-bungalows—old as the Hills.
Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “Operatic Own”Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone.
His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer;He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had an ear.
He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a day,He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way,His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders,But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders.
He took two months to Simla when the year was at the spring,And underneath the deodars eternally did sing.
He warbled like a bulbul, but particularly atCornelia Agrippina who was musical and fat.
She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled a Dept.,Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds were keptFrom April to October on a plump retaining fee,Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian Treasury.
Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used to play;He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false as they:So when the winds of April turned the budding roses brown,Cornelia told her husband: “Tom, you mustn't send him down.”
They haled him from his regiment which didn't much regret him;They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool they set him,To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day,And draw his plump retaining fee—which means his double pay.
Now, ever after dinner, when the coffeecups are brought,Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte;And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen great,And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the State.
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