Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VOLUNTEER, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE VOLUNTEER, by                    
First Line: When fivepence a solid meal cannot supply
Last Line: "some merciful volley then shatters a leg, / and his crutches procure him permission to beg"
Subject(s): Betrayal;heroism;hunger;patriotism; Heroes;heroines


WHEN fivepence a solid meal cannot supply
To a jolly young man five feet ten inches high,
Who has jogged with his knapsack twelve leagues through the rain,
While his wench and three brats had each ankle to strain,
The poor volunteer to the halberts is tied,
For stealing two chick-eggs and getting them fried:
What carters and jockeys should suffer he feels,
And the blood gushes down from his nape to his heels.
The Commander-in-Chief, who is almost fifteen,
And a tailor's apprentice by right should have been,
Now struts round the circle, then turns on his heel
To belabour the drummers 'who don't make him feel'—
Swears England could ne'er have produced such a rogue,
And discerns in his howling the true Irish brogue.
The surgeon, whose sympathy swells in each vein,
When a swoon interrupts the convulsions of pain,
Makes them flog till he start to his senses again.
Nay, doctor and drum for attendance are paid,
And his pockets are fleeced while his shoulders are flayed.
He's packed in a transport on every state quarrel,
More tightly than biscuit and beef in a barrel;
In torrents each summer-shower streams through his tent,
In barracks more dismal December is spent;
In damp rotten bedding the moment he's laid,
To the rage of whole armies his rear is betrayed;
In health he infallibly more than half-starves,
In a fever he's used as a rascal deserves.
His Chloe, by hunger compelled to sad pranks,
Is chased as a swindler in form through the ranks;
His children, when some baggage-cart is o'erthrown,
In a ditch, like blind puppies, are suffered to drown.
And when for his King thirty years he has toiled,
In Canada frost-bit, in Africa broiled;
Has been thrice a week handcuffed for drinking his pay,
Got nine thousand lashes for running away;
Has oft like a hero been wounded before,
And cleared with a cudgel each concubine's score;
At last, with the Dons point to point he engages,
For more than one-fourth of a scavenger's wages;
Some merciful volley then shatters a leg,
And his crutches procure him permission to beg.





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