Hurrah! my lads, vor Do’set men!
A-muster’d here in red ageän;
All welcome to your ranks, a-spread
Up zide to zide, to stand, or wheel,
An’ welcome to your files, to head
The steady march wi’ tooe to heel;
Welcome to marches slow or quick!
Welcome to gath’rèns thin or thick;
God speed the Colonel on the hill,
An’ Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.
When you’ve a-handled well your lock,
An’ flung about your rifle stock
Vrom han’ to shoulder, up an’ down;
When you’ve a-lwoaded an’ a-vired,
Till you do come back into town,
Wi’ all your loppèn limbs a-tired,
An you be dry an’ burnèn hot,
Why here’s your tea an’ coffee pot
At Mister Greenèn’s penny till,
Wi’ Mrs Bingham off o’ drill.
Last year John Hinley’s mother cried,
“Why my bwoy John is quite my pride!
Vor he’ve a-been so good to-year,
An’ han’t a-mell’d wi’ any squabbles,
An’ han’t a-drown’d his wits in beer,
An’ han’t a-been in any hobbles.
I never thought he’d turn out bad,
He always wer so good a lad;
But now I’m sure he’s better still,
Drough Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.”
Jeäne Hart, that’s Joey Duntley’s chaïce,
Do praise en up wi’ her sweet vaïce,
Vor he’s so strait’s a hollyhock
(Vew hollyhocks be up so tall),
An’ he do come so true’s the clock
To Mrs Bingham’s coffee-stall;
An’ Jeäne do write, an’ brag o’ Joe
To teäke the young recruits in tow,
An’ try, vor all their good, to bring em,
A-come from drill, to Mrs Bingham.
God speed the Colonel, toppèn high,
An’ officers wi’ sworded thigh,
An’ all the sargeants that do bawl
All day enough to split their droats,
An’ all the corporals, and all
The band a-plaÿèn up their notes,
An’ all the men vrom vur an’ near
We’ll gi’e em all a hearty cheer.
An’ then another cheerèn still
Vor Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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