The Stranger and the Resident
Were strolling down the Mall;
The former jumped at times to see
The merry bullets fall,
'If this goes on for long,' he said,
'Expect a funeral.'
'If twenty men, with twenty guns,
Blaze at the Bull, his eye,
Do you suppose they hit it once?—
Do you suppose they try?'
'I doubt it,' said the Resident,
'They fire rather high.'
'Oh seek the culvert's shade, my friend,'
The Stranger then besought,
'For death may be the pleasant end
Of this peculiar sport'—
The Resident said nothing but
'They really didn't ought.'
'A coat of mail', the Stranger said,
'Is what we chiefly need,
A half inch steel steel revetment plate
Would be a boon indeed,
I trust I'm not obtrusive, but
My head begins to bleed.'
Then other bullets whistled up,
By ones and twos and threes
Came frisking through the aloe hedge,
Or hurried through the trees,
Which wasn't odd because, you know,
We know the P.R.V.s.
'Oh Stranger,' said the Resident,
'There goes the mid-day gun,
Shall we be trotting home again,
The squad have almost done?
You mustn't mind their play because'—
But answer came there none,
Which wasn't odd, considering
The risks that man had run.