ARMY HEADQUARTERS   Old is the song that I sing—
      Old as my unpaid bills—
   Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring
   Men 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 at
   Cornelia 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 kept
   From 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.

This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI