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The Coward

The Coward

By F. Chatterton Hennequin & Harry May Hemsley (1913)

Performed by Bransby Williams

    It was muttered in his clubroom, it was whispered in the mess,

    As', the rumour grew with telling, men believed it more 0, less.

    Over cards they say it happened, grew to earnest from a joke,

    And tho' twenty heard the insult, yet the coward never spoke.

    He had friends of course who waited, said his reasons must be good,

    But he did not give his reasons, and they never understood.

    One by one they drifted from him, till the tale of friends was done,

    Tho' they shunned him like a leper, yet the coward spoke to none.

    So the poison quickly spreading, reached at length his lady's ear,

    And she proudly said ' I trust him,' tho' her heart was chill with fear,

    All in vain she waited, hoping, till her faith in him grew weak,

    Then she gave him back his freedom, yet the coward would not speak.

    Next his grim old Colonel heard it, and his brow grew black as night.

    'By the love I bore your father, by the God of truth and right,

    They are liars all who say it'  then the man's heart nearly broke,

    'Tell your father's friend the truth boy,' yet the coward never spoke.

    So his Colonel sorely puzzled, got him transferred to the front,

    Where the snarling Hillsmen squabble, and our Tommies bear the brunt,

 

 

    They were ambushed in a donga, with all hope of rescue past,

    Came a whisper of surrender, then the coward spoke at last.

    'We were sent here for a purpose, to uphold our  Country's fame,

    If  these dogs shall take us living, they will spit upon our name,

    We must take the fighting chances, till our paltry  lives are sped,

    'Ere I give the word surrender you shall see me damned and dead.'

    On the Afghan border lying with his secret unconfessed

    Is the coward, with his story locked for ever in his breast.

    Were the reasons for his silence, such as you or  I might guess?

    Should he speak a friend's dishonour, or a woman's shame confess?

    More than this we may not question, for the truth is with the dead,

    Till our secrets are discovered when the lives of men are read.

    But the judgment Book will show it, clear of blame, free from disgrace,

    When the coward gives his reasons, to his Maker face to face.

 

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