The Old Land Dog

AFTER HENRY NEWBOLT

Old General Artichoke lay bloated on his bed,

      Just like the Fighting Téméraire.

Twelve responsive daughters were gathered round his head

      And each of them was ten foot square.

Old General Artichoke he didn’t want to die:

He never understood the truth and that perhaps was why

It wouldn’t be correct to say he always told a lie.

      Womenfolk of England, oh beware!

‘Fetch me down my rifle—it is hanging in the hall’

      Just like the Fighting Téméraire;

‘Lydia, get my cartridge cases, twenty-four in all’,

      And each of them is ten foot square.

‘I’ll tell you all in detail, girls, my every campaign

In Tuscany, Bolivia, Baluchistan and Spain;

And when I’ve finished telling you, I’ll tell you all again;’

      Womenfolk of England, oh beware!

Old General Artichoke he’s over eighty-two,

      Just like the Fighting Téméraire.

His daughters all make rush mats when they’ve nothing else to do,

      And each of them is ten foot square.

Now all ye pension’d army men from Tunbridge Wells to Perth,

Here’s to General Artichoke, the purplest man on earth!

Give three loud cheers for Cheltenham, the city of his birth.

      Womenfolk of England, oh beware!