[2]
The WEATHER-BEATEN SODGER.
PART I.
HERE you may see the turns of fate,
From woe to joy, from poor to great;
A mark of Fortune’s special love,
Who did a soldiers grief remove.
One who in former days, ’tis told,
Had trudg’d through weather hot and cold,
’Till he was poor and pennyless,
You would have laugh’d to’ve seen the dress.
His shoes with trudging up and down,
No sole they had; a hat no crown;
His coat no sleeves, his shirt the same,
But by his side a sword of fame,
Without a scabbard good or bad,
Nor was there any to be had;
His coat and breeches would not come,
In depth to cover half his bum.
Now being weary of his trade;
One day he to his Captain said,
Pray now give me a full discharge,
That I my Fortune may enlarge.
I am persuaded I shall be,
A Burgo-master, Sir, said he,
To Venice, if you’ll let me go,
His Captain smiling, answer’d, No.
With you, said he, I will not part,
Then thought the soldier, I’ll desert
My colours, let what will befal:
And soon he went for good and all.
Now as he march’d with all his might,
