English poem
BALLAD. (The younker, who his first essay)
by Anonymous
The younker, who his first essay Makes in the front of battle, Stands all aghast while cohorts play, And bullets round him rattle.
But pride steps in, and now no more Fell fear his javlin lances; Like dulcet flutes the cannons roar, And groans turn country dances.
So frights and flurries, and what not, Upon my fancy rushes, I fear I know not why or what, I'm cover'd o'er with blushes.
But let the honey season fly, To second well my clapper, The kitchen's whole artillery Shall grace my husband's knapper.
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