CARABINE slung, stirrup well hung,
Flagon at saddle-bow merrily swung;
Toss up the ale, for our flag, like a sail.
Struggles and swells in the hot July gale.
Colours fling out, and then give them a shout-
We are the gallants to put them to rout!

Flash all your swords, like Tartarian hordes,

And scare the prim ladies of Puritan lords;

Our steel caps shall blaze through the long summer days,

As we, galloping, sing our mad Cavalier lays.
Then banners advance! By the lilies of France,

We are the gallants to lead them a dance!

Ring the bells back, though the sexton look black,

Defiance to knaves who are hot on our track.

Murder and fire!" shout louder and higher;

Remember Edge-hill and the red-dabbled mire,

When our steeds we shall stall in the Parliament hall,
And shake the old nest till the roof-tree shall fall.

Froth it up, girl, till it splash every curl,
October's the liquor for trooper and earl;
Bubble it up, merry gold in the cup,

We never may taste of to-morrow night's sup.
(Those red ribbons glow on thy bosom below
Like apple-tree bloom on a hillock of snow.)