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163
THE SERJEANT AND DRUMMER:
A TALE.
How happy's the soldier who lives on his pay,
And spends half a crown out of sixpence a day.
Vide Old Songs.
And spends half a crown out of sixpence a day.
Vide Old Songs.
After they'd gutted Cantia's southern towns,
A Serjeant and his Drummer came to Deal,
The latter end of May;
Extracting gentlemen from gaping clowns;
But neither thought it any crime to steal,
And eke the scantiness of soldiers pay:
Of purl and ale these bloody chieftains drank hard,
And sometimes, thoughtlessly, brought off the tankard.
A Serjeant and his Drummer came to Deal,
The latter end of May;
Extracting gentlemen from gaping clowns;
But neither thought it any crime to steal,
And eke the scantiness of soldiers pay:
Of purl and ale these bloody chieftains drank hard,
And sometimes, thoughtlessly, brought off the tankard.
One market morning, as the Serjeant stood
Adroitly measuring the Portreeve's brain,
Boasting to this vast magistrate of wood,
Of all those Spaniards he had—never slain;
He saw his Lackey hastening to the place,
With his huge drum brac'd tight across his shoulders;
To prove he thought such habits a disgrace,
And shew what Power dare, to the beholders;
Thus disembogu'd his military spleen,
And burst upon him, like a culverin:—
Why! how now, Villain! have you nought to do?
This is the time to sound a rat tat too;
S'blood, fury, thunder! beat for volunteers!
Or you shall have my halberd on your ears!—
Hush, hush! rejoin'd his colleague, softly, mum,
I've stole a turkey—zounds, it's in my drum.
Adroitly measuring the Portreeve's brain,
Boasting to this vast magistrate of wood,
Of all those Spaniards he had—never slain;
He saw his Lackey hastening to the place,
With his huge drum brac'd tight across his shoulders;
To prove he thought such habits a disgrace,
And shew what Power dare, to the beholders;
164
And burst upon him, like a culverin:—
Why! how now, Villain! have you nought to do?
This is the time to sound a rat tat too;
S'blood, fury, thunder! beat for volunteers!
Or you shall have my halberd on your ears!—
Hush, hush! rejoin'd his colleague, softly, mum,
I've stole a turkey—zounds, it's in my drum.
Then thus the Serjeant to the Portreeve spoke,
And put a serious face upon the joke:
Curse it, Misfortune's thrown into our dish,
Much oftener than we wish;
This fellow's run his arm against a cart,
And cant fulfill his duty for the smart!
I'm sorry, Jack, to see you so distrest,
But I'll take care to ease this stroke of Fate,
Go to your quarters, I'll be with you straight,
And see it nicely drest.
And put a serious face upon the joke:
Curse it, Misfortune's thrown into our dish,
Much oftener than we wish;
This fellow's run his arm against a cart,
And cant fulfill his duty for the smart!
I'm sorry, Jack, to see you so distrest,
But I'll take care to ease this stroke of Fate,
Go to your quarters, I'll be with you straight,
And see it nicely drest.
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