So, after dinner, with his honest Sire,
With good old Port, and near a blazing Fire,
‘I think,’ says John, ‘Campaigning is no joke
‘With us poor Subs, it only ends in smoke:
‘For my own part, I’ve got a sort of notion,
‘That I, by other means, may get Promotion.’
‘How’s that?’ says Dad, ‘dear Johnny don’t be rash.’
‘Father, I mean by interest, or by Cash.’
‘O aye, my Son, aye, now I think I take you—
‘If Cash will do’t, I’ll soon a Colonel make you.’