Leonard Pounds & Herbert Townsend (1914)
Billy Bennett
 Disgrace he'd brought on an ancient name 
A smirch on an honoured crest
He’d blotted the page of glorious fame
That his family once possessed
Eton he'd left beneath a cloud
And left in the greatest haste
He'd proceeded whilst there in revels loud
Life's choicest hours to waste.

Sent down from Oxford next was he
The result of orgies wild
He'd filled the cup of vice with glee
And a noble stock defiled
A nickname he'd earned by his acts of shame
'Mong comrades of many a bout
From the broken shell of his own true name
'Rake' Windermere stepped out.

As a fitting end to a family scene, 
He had quitted the family home
With a tearless eye and a smile serene
He had started the world to roam
Still lower he'd sunk than ever before
And never a vice he'd shun
Till even his roystering friends of yore
Forsook him one by one.

He'd drifted at length with a tourist band
To the land of the war-like Moor
And there on the dreary desert sand
Had disaster attacked the tour
Approached by a tribe of bandit brand
The party had turned and fled
But first a shot, fired by some foolish hand
Had pierced a Moorish head.

Besieged for a week on a mound of stone
And with water getting low
The bandit chief appeared alone and said
'Thou art free to go.
If thou deliverest first up to me 
Of thy number any one
So that True Believer's blood may be 
Avenged ere tomorrow's sun.'

Each looked at each as he rode away
Grim silence reigned supreme
The sun went down, and the Moon held sway
Flooding all with silver stream
Then a muffled form crept down the mound
With a wistful glance about
Then with head erect, but without a sound
'Rake' Windermere stepped out. 
The end