It was a gallant Volunteer,
He woke one wintry night,
The long-expected sound to hear,
“The foe is now in sight.”
He leapt from out his cosy bed,
He kissed his frightened wife,
Then put his helmet on his head,
To fight for home and life.
He gaily donned his uniform—
Such portions as he had—
And then went out into the storm;
The night was very bad.
The snowflakes fell as large as eggs,
The blast his bosom smote;
He had no trousers on his legs,
He had no overcoat.
His heart was full of brave intent,
He started at a trot;
But O, he shivered as he went—
Il n’avait pas de bottes!
Ten thousand strong in legs all bare,
And only in their socks,
Our fellows made the Frenchmen stare,
Yet stood their ground like rocks.
But when the Frenchmen saw the foe,
Our noble Volunteers,
They laughed “Ha, ha!” and yelled “Ho, ho!”
And greeted them with sneers.
“C’est drôle,” they cried; “c’est bien drôle,
Cette armée sans culottes,”
And Alphonse yelled to Anatole,
“Ils n’ont donc pas de bottes.”
The British blushed with bitter shame,
Their feelings were acute,
And, though they were extremely game,
They felt too pained to shoot.
Their wail was borne upon the breeze,
“The foe our army mocks,”
But still the cold benumbed their knees,
The snow soaked through their socks.
And so because they weren’t equipped
As Volunteers should be,
The well-clad Frenchmen by them skipped,
And it was all U P.
O Britons, for your country’s sake,
And all you hold most dear,
A lesson from this story take,
And clothe the Volunteer.
For trousers, boots, and overcoats
To Lord Mayor Whitehead hand
A cheque or Bank of England notes,
And save your native land.