Is really but a sprat; With sandy hair and grayish eyes— He wears no plumes or Spanish cloaks, He dresses much like other folks, His collar he will not discard, Lord Byron-like-he's not a Bard— He's rather bald, his sight is weak, He talks of stocks and three per cents, Of Spanish Bonds, and shares, and rents- I sing no matter what I sing, Di Tanti-or Crudel, Tom Bowling, or God save the King, Di piacer-All's well; He knows no more about a voice For singing than a gnat― And as to Music" has no choice " There's no Romance in that! Of light guitar I cannot boast, He writes, and sends it by the post, No stealth, no hempen ladder-no! That startles half of Bedford Row- He comes at nine in time to choose And talks with Pa about the news, John helps him with his coat aright, My lover bows, and says good night— I've long had Pa's and Ma's consent, Of Number Twenty, Sussex Place- A WATERLOO BALLAD. TO WATERLOO, with sad ado, "O prithee tell, good sentinel, If I shall find him here? I'm come to weep upon his corse, "Into our town a sergeant came They taught him how to turn his toes, "A sorry March indeed to leave "O prithee tell, good sentinel, Her sorrow on the sentinel And soon she picked out Peter Stone, "O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone, Lord, here has been a skrimmage! What have they done to your poor breast That used to hold my image?" "O Patty Head, O Patty Head, You're come to my last kissing; Before I'm set in the Gazette As wounded, dead, and missing! "Alas! a splinter of a shell Right in my stomach sticks; French mortars don't agree so well With stomachs as French bricks. "This very night a merry dance "Its billet every bullet has, "And then there came a cuirassier "Next thing a lancer, with his lance, I called for quarter, but, alas! "He ran his spear right through my arm, Just here above the joint : O Patty dear, it was no joke, "With loss of blood I fainted off, As dead as women do But soon by charging over me, The Coldstream brought me to. "With kicks and cuts, and balls and blows, I throb and ache all over; I'm quite convinced the field of Mars "O why did I a soldier turn For any royal Guelph ? I might have been a butcher, and In business for myself! 66 "O why did I the bounty take "Without a coffin I shall lie “() Patty dear, our wedding bells "Farewell, my regimental mates, "Farewell, my Patty dear, I have SHOOTING PAINS. "The charge is prepared."-MACHEATH. IF I shoot any more I'll be shot, With a gun,-for no pay Zounds, I'd better have been in the army! What matters Sir Christopher's leave; |