Mandalay

MANDALAY

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ lazy at 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...

’ 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 again my cheek

We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak.

Elephants а-pilin’ teak

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 ’buses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;

’ I’m learnin’ ’ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:

«If you’ve ’eard the East а-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;

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,

An’ the blasted English 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?

’ 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,

’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,

О the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin’-fishes play,

An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!