"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." A LAY OF REAL LIFE "Some are born with a wooden spoon in their mouths, and some with a golden ladle." GOLDSMITH. "Some are born with tin rings in their noses, and with silver ones." SILVERSMITH.