“Och! would you die, my jewel?”
Thee, Nathan Pumpkin, I lament,
Of melancholy fate,
The grey goose stolen as he went,
In his heart’s blood was wet.
Now as the fight was further fought,
And balls began to thicken,
The fray assum’d, the generals thought,
The color of a lickin’.
Yet undismay’d the chiefs command,