![]() The R.S.M.A Poem by David Lewis Paget‘Atten-shun! Stand
by your gun! And
look in the Frenchies eyes, They’re
marching down at the sound of the drum So
many they look like flies. Don’t
be afraid of the French Cockade They’re
flesh and blood, like you, We’ll
scatter them over the battlefield On
this hill, near Waterloo.’ ‘Right
Dress, Look
at your best, You’re
here for the King and Queen, Let’s
have no slovenly army dress If
you die, they’ll say, ‘He’s clean!’ Your
Red coat’s more than a match for the Blue, It’s
just a matter of course, Old
Boney’s riding across at the rear Astride
of his pure white horse!’ ‘Eyes
front, Look
to your gun, And
gather your cannister shot, One
can will decimate fifty French And
pile their bodies to rot. You’ll
tear the cavalry horse to shreds And
pile them high at the front, They’ll
have to clamber over the lot While
you’re reloading your gun.’ Stand
fast! Think
of your lass, How
proud she will be of you, Taking
apart proud Bonaparte At
the Battle of Waterloo. Hey
gunner! You! Take over the gun He’s
slipped and died in the mud, Don’t
look so green at the sights you’ve seen, He’s
dead, and it’s only blood!’ ‘You
there! Form
in a square, The
Lancers are over the hill, Wait
‘til you see the whites of their eyes Then
front rank, fire at will.’ Their
horses speared on a line of stakes The
French turned back in fear, The
R.S.M. raised his voice up then, ‘We’ve
got them - Blucher’s here!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetAuthor's Note
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