THE GLORY OF A SPANISH DRAGOON.
FROM THE SAME.
My little Pepita
Will be jealous I know,
For I promised to meet her,
But how can I go?
I come off of guard,
And go on police;
My sergeant’s a hard
One, and gives me no peace.
There’s the devil to pay
At fatigue duty too;
Every hour of the day
There is something to do.
A soldier at work,
What a pitiful sight!
I’d desert to the Turk
In the very next fight,
But his way of baptizing
You all will agree,
Is quite too surprising,
It would never suit me.
But my sergeant is worse
Than a Turk or a Jew,
He finds something to curse
At, whatever I do.
At every roll-call,
If I’m not upon time,
Drill, stables, and all,
He counts it a crime;
He laughs at my story,
In the guard-house I’m thrown,—
And this is the glory
Of a Spanish dragoon.