AIR.
Tune—Soldier's Joy.
I.
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,
And shew my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.
II.
My prenticeship I past, where my leader breath'd his last,
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram;
I served out my trade, when the gallant game was play'd,
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
III.
I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,
And there I left for witness, an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'll clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.