(Picked up on the Berkshire Downs .)
What a treasure to Mr . Atkins is his heart of gold,
And his head that nothing can worry ;
He doesn’t mind heat, and he doesn’ t mind cold,
He laughs if his pals have to hurry.
So he accepted the weather as it came and went,
And regarded not time or season.
Arctic in the dog days, tropical in Lent .,
And supposed there was some b—reason.
Loyal to his country (honouring his King),
“Too faithful to give or reprove her,
(Too good a Briton to contemplate such a thing,
As to epithet the climate on manoeuvre .)
What a comfort to the Trooper if he cannot read or write
And has missed the craze of modern education ;
If he thinks ‘ cos it ‘s British, its bound to be right,
‘ Cos Briton is the most favoured Nation,
Rain, snow, and sunshine, deluge, drizzle, drought ;
Whatever comes along is what is needed,
These fights may be a sham, he doesn ‘ t care a damn
If the Canteen cart is there, the rains not heeded.