Come to Burma, dear old Burma,
Where wasps hide their stings
Under butterflies' wings.
Come to Burma, dear old Burma —
The land of the gold semaphore !

Come where the mingaley* reigns supreme.
Beyond the hope of the Feminist's dream ;
Where the pranks of the hooUgan Suffragette
Are quite as unknown as the wilds of Thibet.
The sceptre she wields is a winsome smile,
Mightier far than " political bile " :
As sparkling champagne surpasses - the Nile,
Or the skin of an apple the core !

Chorus.
Come to Burma, dear old Burma,
Where the wand of power
Is a delicate flower.
Come to Burma, dear old Burma —
The land of the gold semaphore !

Come and see the mosaic we've got
Spread in that country so polyglot.
Oh ! what a medley of colour is there :
All save the orthodox black of their hair !
* Mingaley : A Burmese maiden.
2



Ballads of Burma.
See ! Babus, Madrassis and pale Chinese,
Pariahs, Brahmins, and Goanese,
(With just a sprinkling of merry Burmese !)
And Oorya coolies galore.
Chorus.
Come to Burma, dear old Burma,
Where the scum of the East
•Go to plunder and feast.
Come to Burma, dear old Burma —
The land of the gold semaphore !

Come, let us speed on the spicy wind.
Curious peoples and customs to find,
Where they dress in cotton and wear no boots.
And tiny children smoke " whacking cheroots " ;:
Where Death is a pretext for mirth and joy ;
And your grey-haired servant is still a " boy " ;
And woman is more than a painted toy —
A fact which no man should deplore.
Chorus.
