Chapter 4 of 12

MANDALAY

  By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
  There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
  For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
  'Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!'
  Come you back to Mandalay,
  Where the old Flotilla lay:
  Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
  On the road to Mandalay,
  Where the flyin'-fishes play,
  An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

  'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
  An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat--jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
  An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
  An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
      Bloomin' idol made o' mud--
      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd--
      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
      On the road to Mandalay...

  When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
  She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing 'Kulla-lo-lo!'
  With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek
  We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
      Elephints a-pilin' teak
      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
      Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
      On the road to Mandalay...

  But that's all shove be'ind me--long ago an' fur away,
  An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
  An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
  'If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught
            else.'
      No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
      But them spicy garlic smells,
      An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
      On the road to Mandalay...

  I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
  An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
  Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
  An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
      Beefy face an' grubby 'and--
      Law! wot do they understand?
      I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
      On the road to Mandalay ...

  Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
  Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
  For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be--
  By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
         On the road to Mandalay,
         Where the old Flotilla lay,
         With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
         O the road to Mandalay,
         Where the flyin'-fishes play,
         An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!