The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed ::

I saw to-day an ancient man,
An ancient man and poor;
And he was sitting with his can
Before his cottage door.
Right kindly he made room for me
Upon the oaken bench,
And “Here's Old England's health” quoth he,
“And sorrow take the French!”

“Good friend,” said I, “you're vastly wrong,
Your wits are all awry;
Mounseer, whom we abused so long,
Is now our best ally.”

199

He laughed outright in merry glee,
And, winking to his wench,
“Why, how his honour jests,” quoth he,
“To say so of the French!”

“In sooth it is a sober tale;”
So I to him replied:
“Together now our navies sail,
Our troops charge side by side.”
He stroked his head, which I might see
Long years began to blench;
“It's hard to swallow, Sir,” quoth he,
“Such stories of the French.”

“Nay, comrade, it were really best
To let these errors sleep;
French patties are superbly drest,
French wine is very cheap.”
He sipped his grog; could better be
A soldier's thirst to quench?
“Unwholesome is the mess,” quoth he,
“Whene'er the cook is French!”

“All this,” I cried, “is idle cant;
To-day new lights advance;
Lord Palmerston and Mr. Grant
Can find no fault with France.”

200

He knocked his pipe against his knee,
The ashes made a stench;
And, “Sir, there was a time,” quoth he,
“They both disliked the French.”

I gave it up: 'twas all in vain:
The veteran had his way;
He talked of Portugal and Spain,
Of Marmont and of Ney;
He talked of tempests on the sea,
Of grape shot in the trench;
“God bless the Duke!” so ended he;
“How he did beat the French!”

University of Virginia Library

XXIII. THE OLD SOLDIER.