Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads Jacobite Ballads, &c. &c. By George W. Thornbury ... with illustrations by H. S. Marks |
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SAVED!
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 | Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads |  |
154
SAVED!
(Temp. George I.)
I cannot hope to win her—I, uncouth,
With the stain'd scarlet ever on my back,
And voice all hoarse with bawling to the dogs
Through the thick covert—I, good lord, alack!
Not fit for such as her, and when I touch
Her hand and wring it like a farmer's paw,
She strikes me with her fan and cries, “Have done!”
And I am drunk, or stammer out, “Why, law!”
With the stain'd scarlet ever on my back,
And voice all hoarse with bawling to the dogs
Through the thick covert—I, good lord, alack!
Not fit for such as her, and when I touch
Her hand and wring it like a farmer's paw,
She strikes me with her fan and cries, “Have done!”
And I am drunk, or stammer out, “Why, law!”
She flung the fox brush in my stupid teeth,
That I thought trophy for a queen to wear;
I blew my horn to please her, and she cried,
‘For that fool's flute!’—I frowned—O ass and bear,
Look at them riding now across the chase,
How close their cheeks are—God! a loaded gun
And I could stop that fooling. Curse his teeth!
How white they shine, a twinkling in the sun.
That I thought trophy for a queen to wear;
I blew my horn to please her, and she cried,
‘For that fool's flute!’—I frowned—O ass and bear,
Look at them riding now across the chase,
How close their cheeks are—God! a loaded gun
And I could stop that fooling. Curse his teeth!
How white they shine, a twinkling in the sun.
155
Sound, for I see them just upon the crown
Of the park hill, and I must sally out
Quick ere the scent is found. A horse, a horse!
The fire-hot chestnut. Ah! they wheel about;
Now for a burst full in the trooper's face;
'Tis but a bullet sting, and then a groan,
Tell her I kiss'd this rose before I went—
And pray her come to see my burial place.
Of the park hill, and I must sally out
Quick ere the scent is found. A horse, a horse!
The fire-hot chestnut. Ah! they wheel about;
Now for a burst full in the trooper's face;
'Tis but a bullet sting, and then a groan,
Tell her I kiss'd this rose before I went—
And pray her come to see my burial place.
I'll save the Jacobin—for life to me,
Is a suck'd orange that I fling away.
They may be happy—she will be the heir,
And when the trouble's gone, he'll have his way,
And wed the prettiest maid in Rutlandshire.—
Well, sirs, to covert; give the horse a lash;
We ride as at a bulfinch. Yoicks! hurrah!
Yoicks! tally ho! yoicks! forward—now the crash.
Is a suck'd orange that I fling away.
They may be happy—she will be the heir,
And when the trouble's gone, he'll have his way,
And wed the prettiest maid in Rutlandshire.—
Well, sirs, to covert; give the horse a lash;
We ride as at a bulfinch. Yoicks! hurrah!
Yoicks! tally ho! yoicks! forward—now the crash.
To face a rasper, man, or breast a gate;
To leap a yawner, clear a slapping brook,
We yield to none in Rutland—but a dunce
Am I in all this cursed dance and music book,
Fal lal and ribbons!—know not how to smile.
When I am hurt or stung, and do not know
How to well thank the fool who bruis'd my heart,
But long to tear his throat and blow for blow.
To leap a yawner, clear a slapping brook,
We yield to none in Rutland—but a dunce
Am I in all this cursed dance and music book,
Fal lal and ribbons!—know not how to smile.
When I am hurt or stung, and do not know
How to well thank the fool who bruis'd my heart,
But long to tear his throat and blow for blow.
156
Troopers, by heaven! two, four, six—yes, eight,
And all fast coming through the avenue
After young Vernon—I'll be sworn, he's trapp'd.
Not much love lost, all know, between us two.
Yet still he loves her, and she him to death.
What, then, this white rose that the fellow dropp'd.
She kiss'd it first just at the staircase foot;—
I stick it in my button-hole, pull down my hat,
Ride hotly out, they challenge me and shoot.
And all fast coming through the avenue
After young Vernon—I'll be sworn, he's trapp'd.
Not much love lost, all know, between us two.
Yet still he loves her, and she him to death.
What, then, this white rose that the fellow dropp'd.
She kiss'd it first just at the staircase foot;—
I stick it in my button-hole, pull down my hat,
Ride hotly out, they challenge me and shoot.
| Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads | |