In the tip-staff battalion? O no, my love, no.
What means, my lov’d Delia! that frown, now appearing?
Why, why does your brow such severity show?
And wherefore those glances, so cold and uncheering?
Do you think me a poltroon? O no, my love, no.
Though I wear not a red coat, my honour’s untainted,—
To Coventry ne’er was I fated to go;
But, whilst with the plan of removal acquainted,
Can I, cruel, desert thee? O no, my love, no.
Soon war from thy home may a fugitive send thee,