"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, I'll up an' tend to my true love! "'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through' is 'ead, An' you'd best go look for a new love." "Soldier, soldier come from the wars, I'll lie down an' die with my true love!" “The pit we dug 'll 'ide 'im an' twenty men beside 'im An' you'd best go look for a new love." "Soldier, soldier come from the wars, ་་ Do you bring no sign from my true love ?." "I bring a lock of 'air that e' allus used to wear, An' you'd best go look for a new love." O then I know it's true I 've lost my true love !" "An' I tell you truth again feel o' pain when you've lost the You'd best take me for your true love." True love! New love! Best take 'im for a new love. The dead they can not rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes, An' you'd best take 'im for your true love. THE SONS OF THE WIDOW 'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor She 'as ships on the foam she 'as millions at 'ome, An' she pays us poor beggars in red. There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, There's 'er mark on the medical stores - An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind (Poor beggars ! - barbarious wars !) Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces (Poor beggars !- Victorier's sons!) Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame, An' we 've salted it down with our bones. (Poor beggars!--it's blue with our bones!) Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop!" (Poor beggars! -we're sent to say "Stop!") Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file, (Poor beggars!—it's always them guns!) We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land (Poor beggars!-an' don't we get blown !) Take 'old o' the wings o' the mornin', An' flop round the earth till you're dead; But you won't get away from the tune that they play To the bloomin' old rag over❜ead. (Poor beggars!-it's 'ot over'ead!) Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, Ere's all they desire, an' if they require (Poor beggars!—they'll never see 'ome!) TROOPIN' Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 'Ere's September come again the six-year men are free. O leave the dead be'ind us, for they can not come away To where the ship 's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to-day. We're goin' 'ome, we 're goin' 'ome, An' you must pack your 'aversack, For we won't come back no more. Ho, don't you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Anne, For I'll marry you yit on a four-p'ny bit The Malabar's in 'arbor with the Jumner at 'er tail, They 'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' wet an' rain, All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain ; Song of the British Army in the East. They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that's their little way But damn the chills and fever, men, we 're goin' 'ome to-day! Troopin', troopin',- winter 's round again! See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer; The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who 've got to stay, Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle - Whoop! we're goin' 'ome to-day. We're goin' 'ome, we 're goin' 'ome, Our ship is at the shore, An' you must pack your 'aversack, For we won't come back no more. Ho, don't you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Anne, For I'll marry you yit on a four-p'ny bit As a time-expired man. |