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Female drummer

(8) Female drummer

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

Printed and Sold by George Walker, Jun., Sadler-Street,
Durham, of whom my be had a choice collection of Songs,
Ballads, &c. &c.

                D R U M M E R.

A maiden I was at the age of sixteen,
From my friends ran away and a soldier I became ;
I listed in a regiment, a soldier I became,
And I learned to beat on a drum rum-a-dum.

Many a prank I've seen in the field,
And many a Frenchman I've forced to yield ;
Many is the slaughter I have seen of the French,
And so boldly I fought when I was a wench.

A fighting top gallant in my time I have been,
With the noble Duke of York at the siege of Valenciens,
Favoured by my officers for fear I should be slain,
They sent me back to England recruiting back again.

My hat and feather if you had but seen,
You'd thought and sworn that a man I'd been ;
The drummers enjoyed me with my fingers long and small,
And I played row-de-dow the best of them all.

Every night when to my quarters I came,
I was no way ashamed to lay with a man ;
In pulling off my breeches, to myself I often smiled,
For to lay with the soldiers, and a maid all the while.

They sent me to London to keep guard at the Tower,
Where I might have been a maid to this very hour—
A young girl fell in love with me, I told her I was a maid,
And she to my officers the secret conveyed.

The officer sent to me to know if it was true,
For such a thing can scarce be believed of you ;
When I told of it, he smiled and to me said,
'Tis a pity to lose such a drummer as you've made.

For your noble courage at the siege of Valenciens,
A bounty shall be allowed you, my girl, from the king ;
Now I have got a husband and a drummer he's I vow.
I have learned him to beat on my drum row-de-dow.

Here's a health unto the king, and a health unto you,
A health to every soldier that sticks to his colours true ;
And if the King is short of men and war he should proclaim,
So boldly will I march to fight for him again.

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            GALLEY SLAVE.

O think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy'd,
Was as happy as happy could be ;
But pleasure is fled, even hope is destroyed,
I'm a captive, alas ! on the sea !
I was ta'en by the foe, 'twas the fiat of fate,
To tear me from her I adore :
When thought brings to mind my once happy
I sigh, I sigh, while I tug at the oar.

How hard is my fate, how galling my chains,
My life steer'd by misery's chart,
And tho' 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain,
Tears gush forth to ease my full heart !
I disdain, e'er to shrink tho' I feel the sharp
And my breast bleeds for her I adore ;
While around me the unfeeling billows do dash,
I sigh, I sigh, and still tug at the oar.

How fortune deceiv'd me—I'd pleasure in tow,
The port where she dwelt I'd in view ;
But the wish'd nuptial morn was all clouded with
And, dear Anna, I hurried from you !
Our shallop was boarded, and I borne away,
To behold my dear Anna no more ;
But despair wastes my spirits—my form feels
He expir'd as he tug'd at the oar !

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