168 MILITAILY SONGS. The trumpets sound, Y�olors they are flying, boys; To fight, kill or wound; 1M?ay we still be found, Content with our hard fate, my boys, On the cold ground. Why soldiers, why Should we be. melancholy, boys. Why, soldiers, why, Whose business 'tis to die--- ?What---sighing? fie.* Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys; 'Tis he, you, or I, Cold, hOt, wet, or dry, We're always bound to follow, boys; And scorn to fly. '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 are free from pain; But if we remain, A bottle and kind landlady Cure all again. A?)xzv, adieu, my only life, My honor calls me from thee, Remember thou'rt a soldier's wile, Those tom but ill b,?come thee; What though by duty I am call'd, W?ere thundering cannun's rattle, Where v?lor's self might stand aooall'd, ?trbem valor s self nught stand appall d,
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