Delia’s Answer
Whilst the dread voice of war thro’ our island rebellows,
And aspects terrific proud Frenchmen still show,
Do you think, O my Colin! to join our brave fellows
I e’er would forbid you? O no, my love, no.
At the dawn of the day, my bed cheerly forsaking,
I’d scamper thro’ bogs, or where prickly whins grow;
On a view of your martial manœuvres partaking,
I vow ne’er to leave you: O no, my love, no.
Array’d in full splendour, your arms brightly shining,
On guard or on picquet, when proudly you go,
Or on permanent duty, do you think that, repining,
I’d sighing reprove you? O no, my love, no.
Or when you are called to quell rude disorder,
Or with brother heroes shall face the dread foe,
If my honour I trusted to Mr Recorder,
Will he fail to protect me? O no, my love, no.
What means, then, my Colin! that cold sweat appearing?
Why, why should your brow such timidity show?
And where are those glances so cold and uncheering?
Shall I think you a poltroon? O no, my love, no.
Then, haste, wear a red coat, while your honour’s untainted,
Or to Coventry you may be fated to go;
And tho’ with the plan of removal acquainted,
I’ll not go to Newburn: O no, my love, no.
Soon War from my home may a fugitive send me,
And which way, or how, I’m not anxious to know;
For I’ll follow the lads that are arm’d to defend me:
Shall the task be another’s? O no, my love, no.
Then wear not, my Colin! an aspect so chilling,
Let your breast now with ardour heroic but glow,
Then love’s dear delights will I barter for drilling:
You sure can’t refuse me? O no, my love, no.