And he pranced at their head with so princely an air,
That he had the good word of the Brave and the Fair.
This Rifleman young never seemed to grow older,
So trim was his mien, and so chirpy withal;
He was always A 1 to each beauteous beholder,
And youths mustered proudly at Ranelagh’s[11] call
And though some folk might be chaffing or jeering,
’Twas all one to him their flouting and fleering,
For how should our Rifleman ever know care,
While he wins the good word of the Brave and the Fair?