Come here,
Ye insolent pups
Who with the roundhead
Grayhounds run,
I'll tell you of the Master,
And of His service,
While we were young.
He tought me to run
At his steed's heels
To the sound of the trumpets
And the crack of his guns
I followed him in cold Scotland
Fetched his sceptre in Ireland
And bared my fangs at the hounds
Who chased him out of England
And when to rule he came from France
And these bloodhounds to my golden bowl to feed
His call I did heed
And the regicides
I chased at once
So, my pups, lull and play
At the palace, bright and gay,
But heed the call,
the trumpet's sound
And never be friend,
To a roundhead greyhound!
Comments