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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510774" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Gunga Din</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You may talk o' gin and beer<br>When you're quartered safe out 'ere,<br>An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;<br>But when it comes to slaughter<br>You will do your work on water,<br>An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.<br>Now in Injia's sunny clime,<br>Where I used to spend my time<br>A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,<br>Of all them blackfaced crew<br>The finest man I knew<br>Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.<br> He was &quot;Din! Din! Din!<br> You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!<br> Hi! slippery ~hitherao~!<br> Water, get it! ~Panee lao~!  [Bring water swiftly.]<br> You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.&quot;<br> <br>The uniform 'e wore<br>Was nothin' much before,<br>An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,<br>For a piece o' twisty rag<br>An' a goatskin water-bag<br>Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.<br>When the sweatin' troop-train lay<br>In a sidin' through the day,<br>Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,<br>We shouted &quot;Harry By!&quot; [Mr. Atkins's equivalent for &quot;O brother.&quot;]<br>Till our throats were bricky-dry,<br>Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.<br> It was &quot;Din! Din! Din!<br> You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?<br> You put some ~juldee~ in it  [Be quick.]<br> Or I'll ~marrow~ you this minute  [Hit you.]<br> If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!&quot;<br> <br>'E would dot an' carry one<br>Till the longest day was done;<br>An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.<br>If we charged or broke or cut,<br>You could bet your bloomin' nut,<br>'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.<br>With 'is ~mussick~ on 'is back,  [Water-skin.]<br>'E would skip with our attack,<br>An' watch us till the bugles made &quot;Retire&quot;,<br>An' for all 'is dirty 'ide<br>'E was white, clear white, inside<br>When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!<br> It was &quot;Din! Din! Din!&quot;<br> With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.<br> When the cartridges ran out,<br> You could hear the front-files shout,<br> &quot;Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!&quot;<br> <br>I shan't forgit the night<br>When I dropped be'ind the fight<br>With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.<br>I was chokin' mad with thirst,<br>An' the man that spied me first<br>Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.<br>'E lifted up my 'ead,<br>An' he plugged me where I bled,<br>An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:<br>It was crawlin' and it stunk,<br>But of all the drinks I've drunk,<br>I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.<br> It was &quot;Din! Din! Din!<br> 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;<br> 'E's chawin' up the ground,<br> An' 'e's kickin' all around:<br> For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!&quot;<br> <br>'E carried me away<br>To where a dooli lay,<br>An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.<br>'E put me safe inside,<br>An' just before 'e died,<br>&quot;I 'ope you liked your drink&quot;, sez Gunga Din.<br>So I'll meet 'im later on<br>At the place where 'e is gone --<br>Where it's always double drill and no canteen;<br>'E'll be squattin' on the coals<br>Givin' drink to poor damned souls,<br>An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!<br> Yes, Din! Din! Din!<br> You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!<br> Though I've belted you and flayed you,<br> By the livin' Gawd that made you,<br> You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rudyard+Kipling">Rudyard Kipling</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510774" data-title="Gunga Din de Rudyard Kipling" data-description="You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Inji..."></div>
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