Original Songs (1861) :: :: University of Virginia Library

There was a little tailor
Who had a crusty wife,
And no peace for her he ever had, had, had;
They always were at strife,
And she led him such a life,
That she drove him to drink, which was bad, bad, bad.

II

Sometimes she bang'd his hide,
And made his bones quite sore,
Till a friend one night to him said, said, said,
“If you join the rifle corps
She'll never beat you more,
But always look upon you with dread, dread, dread.”

III

Now, though he was so little,
And though his legs were bow'd,
He soon of his wife lost all dread, dread, dread;
While his heart with valour glow'd,
And this he always show'd,
When he came home from drill hot and red, red, red.

IV

When she his rifle saw,
And his bayonet shining bright,
She went trembling upstairs to her bed, bed, bed,
And not a wink all night
Could she sleep for fright,
As she thought of the blood he might shed, shed, shed.

V

Now he smokes his pipe at home,
And his grog for him she makes,
Every night before they go to bed, bed, bed,
While he shows her how we drill,
Boasts how many he can kill,
And does wonders when the grog is in his head, head, head.

T. M.