HURRAH! my lads, vor Do'set men!

A-muster'd here in red ageän;

All welcome to your ranks, a-spread

Up zide to zide, to stand, or wheel,

An’ welcome to your files, to head

The steady march wi’ tooe to heel;

Welcome to marches slow or quick!

Welcome to gath'rèns thin or thick;

God speed the Colonel on the hill,

An’ Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.

When you've a-handled well your lock,

An’ flung about your rifle stock

Vrom han’ to shoulder, up an’ down;

When you've a-lwoaded an’ a-vired,

Till you do come back into town,

Wi’ all your loppèn limbs a-tired, drooping

An’ you be dry an’ burnèn hot,

Why here's your tea an’ coffee pot

At Mister Greenèn's penny till,

Wi’ Mrs Bingham off o’ drill.

Last year John Hinley's mother cried,

“Why my bwoy John is quite my pride!

Vor he've a-been so good to-year,

An’ han't a-mell'd wi’ any squabbles, got involved in

An’ han't a-drown'd his wits in beer,

An’ han't a-been in any hobbles. awkward situations

I never thought he'd turn out bad,

He always wer so good a lad;

But now I'm sure he's better still,

Drough Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.” through

Jeäne Hart, that's Joey Duntley's chaïce,

Do praise en up wi’ her sweet vaïce, him

Vor he's so strait's a hollyhock

(Vew hollyhocks be up so tall),

An’ he do come so true's the clock

To Mrs Bingham's coffee-stall;

An’ Jeäne do write, an’ bag o’ Joe beg

To teäke the young recruits in tow,

An’ try, vor all their good, to bring em,

A-come from drill, to Mrs Bingham.

God speed the Colonel, toppèn high,

An’ officers wi’ sworded thigh,

An’ all the sargeants that do bawl

All day enough to split their droats, throats

An’ all the corporals, and all

The band a-plaÿèn up their notes,

An’ all the men vrom vur an’ near, far

We'll gi'e em all a hearty cheer, give

An’ then another cheerèn still

Vor Mrs Bingham, off o’ drill.