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.”