The Drum

Come each gallant lad, Who for pleasure quits care, To the drum, drum, drum, drum— To the drum-head with spirit repair.

Each recruiter takes his glass, And each young soldier with his lass; While the drum beats tattoo—while, &c. Retires the sweet night to pass.

Each night, gayly lad— Thus we'll merrily waste, 'Till the drum, drum, drum, drum, &c. 'Till the drum tells us 'tis past.

Picquet arms at dawn now shine, And each drum ruffles down, down the line, Now the drum beats revelle, now the, &c. Saluting the day divine.

But hark yonder shouts— See that standard now alarms; Now the drum, drum, drum, drum, &c. Now the drum beats loudly to arms.

Kill'd and wounded how they lie! Helter skelter, see them fly, Now the drum beats-retreat, now, &c. We'll fire a feu-de-joy.