THE BOLD DRAGOON;

OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS.

"TWAS a Maréchal of France, and he fain would honour gain,

And he long'd to take a passing glance at Portugal from Spain;

With his flying guns this gallant gay,

And boasted corps d'armée

O he fear'd not our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack'd the

town,

When, 'twas peste! morbleu! mon General,

Hear the English bugle call!

And behold the light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

1This song was written shortly after the battle of Badajos (April, 1812), for a Yeomanry Cavalry dinner. It was first printed in Mr. George Thomson's Collection of Select Melodies, and stands in Vol. vi. of the last edition of that work.

Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all, And as the devil leaves a house they tumbled through the wall;1

They took no time to seek the door,

But best foot set before

O they ran from our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Those valiant men of France they had scarcely fled

a mile,

When on their flank there sous'd at once the British rank and file;

For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then

Ne'er minded one to ten,

But came on like light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Three hundred British lads they made three thou

sand reel,

Their hearts were made of English oak, their swords of Sheffield steel,

Their horses were in Yorkshire bred,

And Beresford them led;

So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

1 In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor, the French pulled down a part of the rampart, and marched out over the glacis.

Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, to

Long,

And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my

song:

The eagles that to fight he brings

Should serve his men with wings,

When they meet the bold dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding,

Whack, fal de ral, etc.

FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT.1

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.

THOUGH right be aft put down by strength,
As mony a day we saw that,
The true and leilfu' cause at length

Shall bear the grie for a' that.

For a' that an' a' that,

Guns, guillotines, and a' that,
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right,
Is queen again for a' that!

We'll twine her in a friendly knot
With England's Rose, and a' that;
The Shamrock shall not be forgot,
For Wellington made bra' that.
The Thistle, though her leaf be rude,
Yet faith we'll no misca' that,
She shelter'd in her solitude

The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that.

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine
(For Blucher's sake, hurra that,)

1 Sung at the first meeting of the Pitt Club of Scotland; and published in the Scots Magazine for July, 1814.

The Spanish Olive, too, shall join,

And bloom in peace for a' that. Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely twined Around our wreath we'll draw that, And he that would the cord unbind, Shall have it for his gra-vat!

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot,
Your pity scorn to thraw that,
The Devil's elbo' be his lot,

Where he may sit and claw that.
In spite of slight, in spite of might,
In spite of brags and a' that,
The lads that battled for the right,
Have won the day and a' that!

There's ae bit spot I had forgot,
America they ca' that!
A coward plot her rats had got
Their father's flag to gnaw that:
Now see it fly top-gallant high,

Atlantic winds shall blaw that,
And Yankee loon, beware your croun,
There's kames in hand to claw that!

For on the land, or on the sea,

Where'er the breezes blaw that,

The British Flag shall bear the grie,
And win the day for a' that!