The CHAISE MARINE

My dearest life, wer't thou my wife, how happy should I be, And all my care in peace or war, Should be to pleasure thee; When up and down, from town to town, We jolly soldiers rove, Then you my Queen, in chaise marine, Small move like Queen of love.

Your love I'd prize beyond the skies, Beyond the spoils of war, Would'st thou agree to follow me, In humble baggage car. For happiness tho in distress, In soldiers wives is seen, And pride in coach has more reproach, Than love in chaise marine.

Oh! do not hold your love in gold, Nor set your heart on gain, Behold the great with all their state, Their lives are care and pain. In house or tent, I'll pay no rent, Nor care nor trouble see, And every day I'll get my pay, And spend it merrily.

Love not those knaves great fortune's slaves, Who lead ignoble lives, Nor deign to smile on men so vile, Who fight none but their wives. For Britain's right and you we fight, And every ill defy, Should but the fair reward our care With love and constancy.

If sighs nor groans nor tender moans, Can win your harden'd heart, Let love in arms, with all his charms, Then take a soldier's part. With fife and drum, the soldiers come, And all the pomp of war, Then don't think mean of Chaise Marine, 'Tis Love's triumphal Car