THE MILITIA OF THE CITY.
r. Clinton, whose worth we shall know when we’ve lost him,
Is delightfully free of his gifts, if they cost him
But little or nothing, like smiles and brevets;
With what wonderful tact he appreciates merit
In bestowing on all our grown lads of high spirit
His parchment commissions and gold epaulettes!
’Tis amusing to see these young nurslings of fame,
With their sashes of crimson and collars of flame;
Their cocked hats enchanting—their buttons divine,
And even the cloth of their coats superfine!
Displaying, around us, their new tinsel riches,
As proud as a boy in his first pair of breeches.
Ah! who does not envy their steps of delight,
Through the streets to their battle-drums prancing,
While scared at their “chimney-sweep” badges so bright,
Cartmen, pigs, and old women, seek safety in flight,
As, in exquisite order, their lines are advancing!
Long live the Militia! from sergeant to drummer
They’ve the true soldier-aspect, chivalric and wild,
