Samuel Lover

The Bowld Sojer Boy

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Othere's not a thrade that's going
Worth showing,
Or knowing,
Like that from glory growing,
For a Bowld Sojer Boy!
When right or left we go,
Shure you know,
Friend or foe,
Will have the hand or toe
From the Bowld Sojer Boy!
There's not a town we march thro'
But ladies, looking arch thro'
The window-panes, will sarch thro'
The ranks to find their joy.
While up the street
Each girl you meet,
With look so sly
Will cry, "My eye!
Oh, isn't he a darling, the Bowld Sojer Boy!"


But when we get the route,
How they pout,
And they shout,
While to the right-about
Goes the Bowld Sojer Boy.
'Tis then that ladies fair,
In despair,
Tear their hair;
But the div'l a one I care,
Says the Bowld Sojer Boy!
For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,
But chalk us up with joy.
We taste her tap,
We tear her cap,
"Oh, that's the chap
For me!" says she,
"Oh, isn't he a darling, the Bowld Sojer Boy!"


But now the Volunteers
Greet our ears
With their cheers,
And men of sober years
Turn to Bowld Sojer Boys.
The schoolboy scorns his play,
And will pray
For the day
When, old enough, he may
Join the Bowld Sojer Boys!
And girls, in every parish,
When now they're ask'd in marriage,
Disdaining clownish carriage,
The hope of louts destroy:--
They say, "Go drill
And march, until
With martial step
You learn to leap
Into a woman's heart, like a Bowld Sojer Boy!"


'Tis fine, when, on parade,
By some maid
Of high grade,
A handsome present's made
To the Bowld Sojer Boys.
Some silver trump, whose sound
Ringing round
Guarded ground,
Makes the gallant spirit bound
Of the Bowld Sojer Boys!
And when, at target-practice,
The levell'd rifle crack'd is,
Of triumph then no lack 'tis
For marksmen in their joys:--
'Tis not Bull's-eyes
Alone they prize,
But blue ones bright,
That shed their light
Upon the rifle-prizemen of the Bowld Sojer Boys!

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Samuel Lover