“Ho! Iam a soldier bold,
And I follow my captain,—gold.
I will bow to its rule
Though each pedantry fool
Of a rhymer may rant and scold.
Sing tra la la—go gay;
Ho, tra la la—’tis my way;
And my heart is ever light
For a lassie or a fight;
Let us live a jolly life while we may.
“Fill bumpers of rare old wine,
Though the burgher may rave and whine.
His last ounce of good meat
Must my ration complete,
And his pretty lass is much more mine.
Sing tra la la;—’tis my fate;
Star gazers and priests may go prate;
While there’s plunder, gold and wine,
Dainty kisses shall be mine,
And old Moloch for this hosti still must wait.
“See, in purple and gold I am dressed;
Fools may toil, but for me is the best:
And the fairest maiden’s eyes,—
Ruby lips,—the soldier’s prize,—
Of the earth and all its beauty he’s possessed.
Sing tra la la, boys, sing;
To-morrow to the winds let us fling,
And our hearts be ever gay;
While fools toil we tramp away;
And gold and luck will bring us everything.”
This song seemed so simply merry and gay thoughtlessness, that the soldiers were invited into the hall of ordinary assembly and there presented with some sweetmeats, of which the chief consisted of a thin tube of exceedingly fine pastry filled with honey, and called May Bliss, and sometimes Bride’s May Bliss.
