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“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 opened 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 steeled his breast.

“ Next thing a lancer, with his lance,

Began to thrust away ;
I called 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 convinced 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 gasped for breath) My shillingsworth of list is nailed

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 Honour'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."

SHOOTING PAINS.

“ The charge is prepared.” – MACHEATH.

If I shoot any more I'll be shot,
For ill-luck seems determined to star me,

I have marched the whole day

With a gun, — for no pay — Zounds, I 'd better have been in the army!

What matters Sir Christopher's leave;
To his manor I'm sorry I came yet!

With confidence fraught,

My two pointers I brought,
But we are not a point towards game yet!

And that gamekeeper too, with advice !
Of my course he has been a nice chalker,

Not far, were his words,

I could go without birds : If my legs could cry out, they'd cry “Walker !”

Not Hawker could find out a flaw,—
My appointments are modern and Mantony,

And I've brought my own man,

To mark down all he can,
But I can't find a mark for my Antony !

The partridges,— where can they lie?
I have promised a leash to Miss Jervas,

As the least I could do ;

But without even two
To brace me,- I'm getting quite nervous !

To the pheasants — how well they ’re preserved ! My sport's not a jot more beholden,

As the birds are so shy,

For my friends I must buy,
And so send “ silver pheasants and golden.”

I have tried ev'ry form for a hare,
Every patch, every furze that could shroud her,

With toil unrelaxed,

Till my patience is taxed,
But I cannot be taxed for hare-powder.

I've been roaming for hours in three flats
In the hope of a snipe for a snap at;

But still vainly I court

The percussioning sport,
I find nothing for “setting my cap at !”

A woodcock,— this month is the time,-
Right and left I've made ready my lock for,

With well-loaded double,

But spite of my trouble,
Neither barrel can I find a cock for!

A rabbit I should not despise,
But they lurk in their burrows so lowly

This day's the eleventh,

It is not the seventh,
But they seem to be keeping it hole-y.

For a mallard I've waded the marsh,
And haunted each pool, and each lake – oh

Mine is not the luck,

To obtain thee, O Duck,
Or to doom thee, O Drake, like a Draco !

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