THE POOR Discharged Soldier.
Gather round me, one an'all. great and small, short and tall,
Till you hear the sad down fall of the poor soldier boy.
That has fought by land and sea, night and day far away,
For thirteenpence a day, says the poor soldier boy. ]
But after all I've done and the battles I have won.
In place of march I got the run, which does me sore annoy.
With my old red coat all tore. and my bones both bruised & sore,
I'm left starving on the shore, says the poor soldier boy,
The next thing I've to tell, mark it well. what befel,
My old shirt I had to sell, says the poor soldier boy,
For hunger I can't bear, I declare, and I swear,
For bread I'd sell my hair, says the poor soldier boy.
But before in rags I 'd fly some roguery I must try,
I 'll break an arm or blind an eye, some blunt for to decoy,
Then I'll go through the town, with my medal hanging down,
Saying, for glory and renown, help the poor soldier boy.
When I was at Waterloo, I tell to you it is true,
My old red coat was new, says the poor soldier boy,
And likewise at Cabul I smashed many in the skull,
But his belly it was full says the poor soldier boy.
At Vitoria and the Nile, I cut them rank and file,
I never thought awhile that they'd make me such a toy,
As to turn me away. without one penny in the day.
After smashing China, clear the way, says the poor soldier boy.
It's when this bill was passed, we were cast, very fast,
We're all begging now at last, says the poor soldier boy.
We are going about like Jews, without hats, shirts or shoes,
For to live upon strange news, says the poor soldier boy.
Now we can stand at ease, at any corner that we please,
Into every tavern gaze, for to comfort us with joy,
Where we'll see bread and meat on each plate, that we could eat,
But our blunt was out of date, says the poor soldier boy.
Now very long ago, you must know, it was so,
Off to India I did go, says the poor soldier boy,
And fought the black men there, I declare, and I swear,
Without either dread or fear, says the poor soldier boy.
But after the campain I was sent back again,
Some were kilt, and more were lame but it mattered not a toy,
They'd no penison give to I, live or die, I might fly,
To the devil or Buckleroy. says the poor soldier boy.
So now to end my theme, I'm to blame for the same,
I wish I had been slain, says the poor soldier boy.
When I took a delight to go and fight. out of spite,
Away off to the Sikhs, says the poor soldier boy.
But all for my vallantry, in that glorious victory.
See what they've done to we. and how they did destroy,
They sent me for to wait at the mendieiy gate.
To get skilly on a plate, says the poor soldier boy.
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Likely period of publication:
1858-1871 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.178.A.2(217)
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