V. GRENADIER
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he Queen she sent to look for me,The sergeant he did say,'Young man, a soldier will you beFor thirteen pence a day?' For thirteen pence a day did ITake off the things I wore,And I have marched to where I lie,And I shall march no more. My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet,My blood runs all away,So now I shall not die in debtFor thirteen pence a day. To-morrow after new young menThe sergeant he must see,For things will all be over thenBetween the Queen and me. And I shall have to bate my price,For in the grave, they say,Is neither knowledge nor deviceNor thirteen pence a day.
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