When we lay where Budmouth Beach is,
  O, the girls were fresh as peaches,
With their tall and tossing figures and their eyes of blue and brown!
  And our hearts would ache with longing
  As we paced from our sing-songing,
With a smart Clink! Clink! up the Esplanade and down.

  They distracted and delayed us
  By the pleasant pranks they played us,
And what marvel, then, if troopers, even of regiments of renown,
  On whom flashed those eyes divine, O,
  Should forget the countersign, O,
As we tore Clink! Clink! back to camp above the town.

  Do they miss us much, I wonder,
  Now that war has swept us sunder,
And we roam from where the faces smile to where the faces frown?
  And no more behold the features
  Of the fair fantastic creatures,
And no more Clink! Clink! past the parlours of the town?

  Shall we once again there meet them?
  Falter fond attempts to greet them?
Will the gay sling-jacket glow again beside the muslin gown?
  Will they archly quiz and con us
  With a sideway glance upon us,
While our spurs Clink! Clink! up the Esplanade and down?