Classic Poem

Oh, the Rifles have stolen my dear jewel away,
And I in old England no longer can stay;
I will cross the wide ocean, all on my bare breast,
To find my own true love, whom I do love best.

And when I have found him, my own heart's delight,
I will prove to him kinder by day and by night,
I will prove to him kinder than the true turtle-dove,
I never will at any time prove false to my love.

And when we are married the bells they shall ring,
With many sweet changes our joys to begin;
The music shall play and the drums make a noise,
To welcome my true love with ten thousand bright joys.