Robert Burns - I Am A Son Of Mars - written in 1785
I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram: and I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Morro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.
What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of a drum