Arthur Conan Doyle

[''Ware Holes!' is the expression used in the hunting-field to warn those behind against rabbit-burrows or other suck dangers.] A sportin' death! My word it was! An' taken in a sportin' way.

They recruited William Evans From the ploughtail and the spade; Ten years' service in the Devons

Who carries the gun? A lad from over the Tweed. Then let him go, for well we know

[The scene of this ancient fight, recorded by Froissart, is still called 'Altura de los Inglesos.' Five hundred years later Wellington's soldiers were fighting on the same ground.] 'Say, what saw you on the hill, Campesino Garcia?'

Put the saddle on the mare, For the wet winds blow; There's winter in the air,

(Coronation Year, 1911) God save England, blessed by Fate, So old, yet ever young:

It's up and away from our work to-day, For the breeze sweeps over the down; And it's hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame,

Being the doggerel Itinerary of a Holiday in September, 1908 To St. Albans' town we came; Roman Albanus hence the name.

The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there, And warmly debated the matter; The Orthodox said that it came from the air,

Peter Wilson, A.R.A., In his small atelier, Studied Continental Schools,

A trader sailed from Stepney town - Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail! A trader sailed from Stepney town

Who's that walking on the moorland? Who's that moving on the hill? They are passing 'mid the bracken,

1909 Breathing the stale and stuffy air Of office or consulting room,

I am not blind I understand; I see him loyal, good, and wise, I feel decision in his hand,

First begin Taking in. Cargo stored,

[Bendigo, the well-known Nottingham prize fighter, became converted to religion, and preached at revival meetings throughout the country.] You didn't know of Bendigo! Well, that knocks me out! Who's your board school teacher? What's he been about?

Her cheek was wet with North Sea spray, We walked where tide and shingle meet; The long waves rolled from far away

The grime is on the window pane, Pale the London sunbeams fall, And show the smudge of mildew stain,

The Eastern day was well-nigh o'er When, parched with thirst and travel sore, Two of McPherson's flanking corps

[The French Army, including a part of the Irish Brigade, under Marshal Villeroy, held the fortified town of Cremona during the winter of 1702. Prince Eugene, with the Imperial Army, surprised it one morning, and, owing to the treachery of a priest, occupied the whole city before the alarm was given. Villeroy was captured, together with many of the French garrison. The Irish, however, consisting of the regiments of Dillon and of Burke, held a fort commanding the river gate, and defended themselves all day, in spite of Prince Eugene's efforts to win them over to his cause. Eventually Eugene, being unable to take the post, was compelled to withdraw from the city.] The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall; The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the city wall;

A gentleman of wit and charm, A kindly heart, a cleanly mind, One who was quick with hand or purse,

The bloom is on the May once more, The chestnut buds have burst anew; But, darling, all our springs are o'er,

Captain Temple, D.S.O., With his banjo and retriever. "Rough, I know, on poor old Flo,

[Being an humble address to Her Majesty's Naval advisers, who sold Nelson's old flagship to the Germans for a thousand pounds.] Who says the Nation's purse is lean, Who fears for claim or bond or debt,

Faith may break on reason, Faith may prove a treason To that highest gift

Man says that He is jealous, Man says that He is wise, Man says that He is watching

Master went a-hunting, When the leaves were falling; We saw him on the bridle path,

Great was his soul and high his aim, He viewed the world, and he could trace A lofty plan to leave his name

Father, father, who is that a-whispering? Who is it who whispers in the wood? You say it is the breeze

Pennarby shaft is dark and steep, Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep. Stout the bucket and tough the cord,

1 God's own best will bide the test, And God's own worst will fall;

From our youth to our age We have passed each stage In old immemorial order,

Masters, I sleep not quiet in my grave, There where they laid me, by the Avon shore, In that some crazy wights have set it forth

A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword! For the world is all to win. Though the way be hard and the door be barred,

I gave the 'orse 'is evenin' feed, And bedded of 'im down, And went to 'ear the sing-song

There's a banner in our van, And we follow as we can, For at times we scarce can see it,

Squire wants the bay horse, For it is the best. Squire holds the mortgage;

Little boy Love drew his bow at a chance, Shooting down at the ballroom floor; He hit an old chaperone watching the dance,

It came from gettin' 'eated, that was 'ow the thing begun, And 'ackin' back to kennels from a ninety-minute run; 'I guess I've copped brownchitis,' says I to brother Jack,

(After Heine) Through the lonely mountain land There rode a cavalier.

1902 They said that it had feet of clay, That its fall was sure and quick.

"Tell me what to get and I will get it." "Then get that picture that the girl in white." "Now tell me where you wish that I should set it."

Christopher Davis was up upon Mavis And Sammy MacGregor on Flo, Jo Chauncy rode Spider, the rankest outsider,

The franklin he hath gone to roam, The franklin's maid she bides at home; But she is cold, and coy, and staid,

What marks the frontier line? Thou man of India, say! Is it the Himalayas sheer,

(Being a Sequel to "The Groom's Story" in "Songs of Action") Not tired of 'earin' stories! You're a nailer, so you are! I thought I should 'ave choked you off with that 'ere motor-car.

Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true. The big bay 'orse in the further stall--the one wot's next to you. I've seen some better 'orses; I've seldom seen a wuss,

[Lost, with her crew of three hundred boys, on the last day of her voyage, March 23, 1876. She foundered off Portsmouth, from which town many of the boys came.] Up with the royals that top the white spread of her! Press her and dress her, and drive through the foam;

It is mine--the little chamber, Mine alone. I had it from my forbears

Said the king to the colonel, 'The complaints are eternal, That you Irish give more trouble

(From Heine) Up, dear laddie, saddle quick, And spring upon the leather!

We started from the Valley Pride, And Farnham way we went. We waited at the cover-side,

There's a keen and grim old huntsman On a horse as white as snow; Sometimes he is very swift

When, ere the tangled web is reft, The kid-gloved villain scowls and sneers, And hapless innocence is left

Three women stood by the river's flood In the gas-lamp's murky light, A devil watched them on the left,

It was the hour of dawn, When the heart beats thin and small, The window glimmered grey,

What of the bow? The bow was made in England: Of true wood, of yew-wood,

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow, 'Though the breach is steep and narrow, If we only gain the summit

With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch. 'Twas in the shadowy gloaming Of a cold and wet March day,

The horse is bedded down Where the straw lies deep. The hound is in the kennel;