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15 Says they my lad don't be afraid, Nor any way seem the least dismay'd For almost every spree young blade, Sometimes comes to the Coal Hole.

But since I'm free I'll no more fight, Nor any way stop out late at night ; For to tell the truth I've ne'er been right, Since I got such a curs'd roll. Black were my eyes and scrathed my face, Besides it's brought me to disgrace, And makes poor Jack for to curse the place, Which people call the Coal Hole.

THE LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

When I was an infant, gossips would say, I when older, would be a soldier, Rattles and toys I threw them away; Unless a gun or a sabre. I a younker, up I grew, Saw one day a grand review: Colours flying, set me a dying, To embark in a life so new,

CHORUS.

Roll drums merrily march away, Soldiers glory, lives in story, His laurels are green, when his locks they are gray, Then huzza for the life of a soldier. Listed-to battle I marched along, Courting danger fear a stranger, at The cannon beat time to the trumpets song. Which made my heart a hero's: