THE SERGEANT’S SONG.
Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’
Both to Portingale and Spain;
Drums are batin’, colours flyin’—
And the divil a-back we’ll come again;
So, Love, farewell!
The colonel cries, “Boys are ye ready?”
“We’re at your back, both firm and steady;
Our pouches filt with balls and powther,
And a clane firelock on each shouther.”