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’Tis but in vain,
(I mean not to upbraid you, boys)
’Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain:
Should next campaign
Send us to him who made us, boys,
We’re free from pain;
But if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady
Cure all again.
(I mean not to upbraid you, boys)
’Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain:
Should next campaign
Send us to him who made us, boys,
We’re free from pain;
But if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady
Cure all again.
GAFFER GRAY.
Ho, why dost thou shiver and shake, Gaffer Gray?
And why does thy nose look so blue?
''Tis the weather that’s cold,
''Tis I’m grown very old,
‘And my doublet is not very new—Well-a-a-day!
‘And my doublet,’ &c.
And why does thy nose look so blue?
''Tis the weather that’s cold,
''Tis I’m grown very old,
‘And my doublet is not very new—Well-a-a-day!
‘And my doublet,’ &c.
Then line thy worn doublet with ale, Gaffer Gray,
And warm thy old heart with a glass.
‘Nay, but credit I’ve none,
‘And my money’s all gone,
‘Then say, how may that come to pass?—
Well-a-day!
‘Then say,’ &c.
And warm thy old heart with a glass.
‘Nay, but credit I’ve none,
‘And my money’s all gone,
‘Then say, how may that come to pass?—
Well-a-day!
‘Then say,’ &c.
