Classic Poem

I would drink first of all
to the health of King George,
to the honour and triumph
of the gentlemen in his court;
to General Hawley
and Major Colquhoun,
not leaving out Mary,
coy wife of my love.

My blessing for ever
on the queen who is gone;
'twas she who had Mary,
then young, in tutelage;
a peaceable, silent spouse is she,
and modest without fail;
when I visit the tavern
she would pay for the stoups.

'Tis thou wouldst maintain me
in such affluence and dignity,
and put into my purse
the dollars and crowns;
though I should drink strong ale,
Spanish wine and rum,
thou wast surety for payment,
being stationed behind me.

When I would come with thee home
from the field of review,
delightful I thought thee
stretched out in my plaid;
I would lay thee aside
where I might look on thy face,
my pretty, brown Mary,
on whom I have set my affection.

'Tis to the queen's daughter
I gave youthful love;
since I have won her hand
there is naught amiss in my fare;
I received from the captain a right to thee
that I would not barter for gold;
and though I went with thee into battle
I would not desert thee while I lived.

As fortune would have it,
I secured at the outset
the spouse whose form is the straightest
that parades in the force;
and in spite of old age
she will not lose her looks,
her legs will not grow leaner,
no more will her head turn grey.

Mary is as beautiful
as any young dame in the land,
without defect in training,
noble, high-minded and trim;
'tis my joy and my cheer
that she is wedded to me,
and though our means were exhausted,
we'll get gold in the King's service.

We will all serve King George,
and 'tis no folly on our part,
since he has the resources
and a right to the crown;
he gives us payment in hand
and asks us naught in return;
we shall get linen and clothing
as freely as water.

No tale of woes to recount
have retainers of the King,
but frolic, diversion
and total freedom from care;
though I drank by the gallon
at every move that I make,
my wife would never upbraid me,
and she will not let me lack for bread.

Verily mine is the sweetheart
who is neither dirty nor coarse;
'tis the distinction in her brow
proclaims her gentility;
I am firmly persuaded
her peer is not under the sun,
and I will make her portion secure
if she should survive me.