Screw-Guns
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule,With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgetsIt's only the pick of the Armythat handles the dear little pets -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you!So when we call round with a few guns,o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo!Jest send in your Chief an' surrender --it's worse if you fights or you runs:You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees,but you don't get away from the guns!
They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't:We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint:We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedeeman fits,For we fancies ourselves at two thousand,we guns that are built in two bits -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns . . .
If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave;If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave.You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss.D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns?By God, you must lather with us -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns . . .
The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below,We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub,we're out on the rocks an' the snow,An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plainsThe rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules --the jinglety-jink o' the chains -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns . . .
There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin',an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit,An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves,an' the sun off the snow in your face,An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropesto hold the old gun in 'er place -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns . . .
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule.The monkey can say what our road was --the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed.Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's!Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast -- 'Tss! 'Tss!For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you!So when we take tea with a few guns,o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo!Jest send in your Chief an' surrender --it's worse if you fights or you runs:You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves,but you can't get away from the guns!
Words in this poem
- jest n.
- A deed; an action; a gest. [OE. jeste, geste, deed, action, story, tale, OF. geste, LL. gesta, orig., exploits, neut. pl. from L. gestus, p. p. of gerere to bear, carry, accomplish, perfor]
- fuss n.
- A tumult; a bustle; unnecessary or annoying ado about trifles. [Cf. Fusome.]
- shrapnel a.
- Applied as an appellation to a kind of shell invented by Gen.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Screw-Guns is in the public domain. This text is taken from Verses 1889-1896, Project Gutenberg ebook #323; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Rudyard Kipling, Screw-Guns, in Verses 1889–1896 (1889–1896), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #323, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/kipling-verses/screw-guns.html, id L16744.
Form and metre
Screw-Guns is 52 lines in 6 stanzas. 87% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 11.5 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 8% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AA---BCB-C-C coolA · muleA · forgets · army · — · youB · gunsC · hooB · surrender · runsC · trees · gunsC
- 2 AA---- ain'tA · paintA · fits · thousand · — · guns
- 3 AA-B-B behaveA · graveA · fuss · gunsB · — · gunsB
- 4 A-A---- belowA · scrub · snowA · plains · mules · — · guns
- 5 -AA----- mornin · pitA · spitA · sleeves · face · ropes · — · guns
- 6 AA--B-CBC-B-B coolA · muleA · was · passed · darlin'sB · — · youC · gunsB · hooC · surrender · runsB · graves · gunsB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule, | 15 | ······/˘˘/····· |
| With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets | 14 | ·/˘/˘···/·/˘˘/ |
| It's only the pick of the Army | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| that handles the dear little pets -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ·/˘··/˘·//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you! | 14 | ·············· |
| So when we call round with a few guns, | 9 | ········· |
| o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo! | 10 | ·········· |
| Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| it's worse if you fights or you runs: | 8 | ········ |
| You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, | 12 | ············ |
| but you don't get away from the guns! | 9 | ····˘/··· |
| They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't: | 17 | ···˘/·····/˘····· |
| We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint: | 17 | ················· |
| We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedeeman fits, | 16 | ················ |
| For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, | 10 | ··/˘˘/··/˘ |
| we guns that are built in two bits -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ········//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns . . . | 7 | ······· |
| If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave; | 18 | ···/˘······/˘···˘/ |
| If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave. | 18 | ··/˘·······/˘····· |
| You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss. | 17 | ······//˘········ |
| D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns? | 9 | ········· |
| By God, you must lather with us -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ····/˘··//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns . . . | 7 | ······· |
| The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below, | 17 | ·/˘·······/˘····· |
| We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, | 9 | ········· |
| we're out on the rocks an' the snow, | 8 | ········ |
| An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains | 18 | ···········/˘˘/··· |
| The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules -- | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| the jinglety-jink o' the chains -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ········//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns . . . | 7 | ······· |
| There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', | 10 | ·········· |
| an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit, | 9 | ········· |
| An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit: | 18 | ·····/˘·······/˘·· |
| With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| an' the sun off the snow in your face, | 9 | ········· |
| An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes | 9 | ········· |
| to hold the old gun in 'er place -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ········//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns . . . | 7 | ······· |
| Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule. | 15 | ······/˘˘/····· |
| The monkey can say what our road was -- | 9 | ·/˘···/·· |
| the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed. | 8 | ········ |
| Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast -- 'Tss! 'Tss! | 12 | ····/˘··//// |
| For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you! | 14 | ·············· |
| So when we take tea with a few guns, | 9 | ········· |
| o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo! | 10 | ·········· |
| Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| it's worse if you fights or you runs: | 8 | ········ |
| You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| but you can't get away from the guns! | 9 | ····˘/··· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.