THE LOYAL SOLDIER.
From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.
When in the field of Mars we lie,
Amongst those martial wights,
Who, never daunted, are to dye
For King and countrie’s rights;
As on Belona’s god I wait,
And her attendant be,
Yet, being absent from my mate,
I live in misery.
When lofty winds aloud do blow,
It snoweth, hail, or rain,
And Charon in his boat doth row,
Yet stedfast I’ll remain;
And for my shelter in some barn creep,
Or under some hedge lye;
Whilst such as do now strong castles keep
Knows no such misery.
When down in straw we tumbling lye,
With Morpheus’ charms asleep,
My heavy, sad, and mournful eye
In security so deep;
Then do I dream within my arms
With thee I sleeping lye,
Then do I dread or fear no harms,
Nor feel no misery.
When all my joys are thus compleat,
The canons loud do play,
The drums alarum straight do beat,
Trumpet sounds, horse, away!
Awake I then, and nought can find
But death attending me,
And all my joys are vanisht quite,—
This is my misery.
When hunger oftentimes I feel,
And water cold do drink,
Yet from my colours I’le not steal,
Nor from my King will shrink;
No traytor base shall make me yield,
But for the cause I’le be:
This is my love, pray Heaven to shield,
And farewell misery.
Then to our arms we straight do fly,
And forthwith march away;
Few towns or cities we come nigh
Good liquor us deny;
In Lethe deep our woes we steep—
Our loves forgotten be,
Amongst the jovialst we sing,
Hang up all misery.
Propitious fate, then be more kind,
Grim death, lend me thy dart,
O sun and moon, and eke the wind,
Great Jove, take thou our part;
That of these Roundheads and these wars
An end that we may see,
And thy great name we’ll all applaud,
And hang all misery.