Tune: “Dance of the Cavalry”
Drunken, I lit my lamp to see my glaive,
Awake, I heard the horns from tents to tents
Under the flags, beef grilled
Was eaten by our warriors brave
And martial airs were played by fifty instruments:
‘Twas an autumn manoeuvre in the field.
On gallant steed
Running full speed,
We’d shoot with twanging bows.
Recovering the lost land for the sovereign,
‘Tis everlasting fame that we would win,
But alas! White hair grows!