Classic Poem

A soldier's life is a merry, merry life,
With his musket over his shoulder,
He marches on through blood and strife,
Bolder still, and bolder;
'Mid cannon's roar and trumpet's blast,
'Mid bombs and bullets flying,
He tears away like a man to the last,
And dares the foe when dying.

Then oh! how snug when he's left the trench,
And at home in barracks laying,
He strolls about with his buxom wench,
The never a penny paying;
He 'lists recruits, gets drunk and fights,
He swaggers, swears, and blusters,
Goes home, and shakes himself to rights,
Then on parade he musters.

Then oh! how merrily rolls away
The life of a gallant soldier;
Kill or no kill, he pockets his pay,
And heaves care o'er his shoulder;
And tho' an eye or limb is lost,
With his pension every quarter,
He quaffs his grog at his country's cost,
And is crown'd his country's martyr.

Then how shall any dare set up,
To cope with a soldier's glory!
A swad with his girl, his gun, and his cup,
Is the star of Briton's story.
And while you've noble Wellington,
With a gallant British army,
No Russian Bear, nor Spanish Don,
Nor the devil himself, shall harm ye.