Classic Poem

This I got on the day that Goring
Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring--
The roofs were black, and the streets were full,
The doors built up with packs of wool;
But our pikes made way through a storm of shot,
Barrel to barrel till locks grew hot;
Frere fell dead, and Lucas was gone,
But the drum still beat and the flag went on.

This I caught from a swinging sabre,
All I had from a long night's labor;
When Chester[A] flamed, and the streets were red,
In splashing shower fell the molten lead,
The fire sprang up, and the old roof split,
The fire-ball burst in the middle of it;
With a clash and a clang the troopers they ran,
For the siege was over ere well began.

This I got from a pistol butt
(Lucky my head's not a hazel nut);
The horse they raced, and scudded and swore;
There were Leicestershire gantlemen, seventy score;
Up came the "Lobsters," covered with steel--
Down we went with a stagger and reel;
Smash at the flag, I tore it to rag.
And carried it off in my foraging bag.