to waterloo, with sad ado,
and many a sigh and groan,
amongst the dead, came patty head,
to look for peter stone.
“o prithee tell, good sentinel,
if i shall find him here?
i’m come to weep upon his corse,
my ninety-second dear!
“into our town a sergeant came,
with ribands all so fine,
a-flaunting in his cap — alas!
his bow enlisted mine!
“they taught him how to turn his toes,
and stand as stiff as starch;
i thought that it was love and may,
but it was love and march!
“a sorry march indeed to leave
the friends he might have kep’ —
no march of intellect it was,
but quite a foolish step.
“o prithee tell, good sentinel,
if hereabout he lies?
i want a corpse with reddish hair,
and very sweet blue eyes.”
her sorrow on the sentinel
appear’d to deeply strike:—
“walk in,” he said, “among the dead,
and pick out which you like.”
and soon she picked out peter stone,
half turned into a corse;
a cannon was his bolster, and
his mattrass was a horse.
“o peter stone, o peter stone,
lord, here has been a skrimmage!
what have they done to your poor breast
that used to hold my image?”
“o patty head, o patty head,
you’re come to my last kissing;
before i’m set in the gazette
as wounded, dead, and missing!
“alas! a splinter of a shell
right in my stomach sticks;
french mortars don’t agree so well
with stomachs as french bricks.
“this very night a merry dance
at brussels was to be; —
instead of opening a ball,
a ball has open’d me.
“its billet every bullet has,
and well it does fulfil it; —
i wish mine hadn’t come so straight.
but been a ‘crooked billet.’
“and then there came a cuirassier
and cut me on the chest; —
he had no pity in his heart,
for he had steel’d his breast.
“next thing a lancer, with his lance,
began to thrust away;
i call’d for quarter, but, alas!
it was not quarter-day.
“he ran his spear right through my arm,
just here above the joint; —
o patty dear, it was no joke,
although it had a point.
“with loss of blood i fainted off,
as dead as women do —
but soon by charging over me,
the coldstream brought me to.
“with kicks and cuts, and balls and blows,
i throb and ache all over;
i’m quite convinc’d the field of mars
is not a field of clover!
“o why did i a soldier turn
for any royal guelph?
i might have been a butcher, and
in business for myself!
“o why did i the bounty take?
(and here he gasp’d for breath)
my shillingsworth of ‘list is nail’d
upon the door of death!
“without a coffin i shall lie
and sleep my sleep eternal:
not ev’n a shell— my only chance
of being made a kernel!
“o patty dear, our wedding bells
will never ring at chester!
here i must lie in honor’s bed,
that isn’t worth a tester!
“farewell, my regimental mates,
with whom i used to dress!
my corps is changed, and i am now
in quite another mess.
“farewell, my patty dear, i have
no dying consolations,
except, when i am dead, you’ll go
and see th’ illuminations.”
