Page:Bold dragoon.pdf/5

 'Twas a freehold estate, heir at law was myself,

So to law went about it of course with an elf.

Gain’d the cause, but to try it so long time requir’d

The freehold I lost, ‘cause the lease was expir’d.

How stands the glass around?

For shame, ye take no care my boys.

Let mirth and wine abound.

The trumpets sound,

The colours they are flying, boys.

To fight, kill, or wound,

May we still be found,

Content with our hard fate my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why, soldiers, why,

Shou’d we be melancholy, boys?

Why, soldiers, why?

Whose business ‘tis to die?

What, sighing? fie!

Don’t fear, drink on, be jolly, boys,

‘Tis he, you, or I,

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,

We’re always bound to follow, boys,

And scorn to fly.