A Pot of Tea

You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;      You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;      You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;      The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.      You're awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin' of your lot;      You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;      It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:      God bless the man that first discovered Tea!      Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,      I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;      All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,      To rum they serves you out before a charge.      In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;      I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;      But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:      God bless the man that first invented Tea!      I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel      Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;      I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell      Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.      Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;      And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,      To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew      (For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).      To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,      As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.