Sweet buds of beauty's blooming tree,
The top of the creation;
Full many of our lads, I ween,
Have got good wives and true, sirs,
I wonder what our leaders mean,
They have not done so too, sirs.
Fal lal, &c.
Perhaps—but hark! the thund'ring drum
From love to arms is beating;
Our country calls, we come, we come,