Merry Month of May


J, WRIGLEY, Publisher, of Songs, Ballad’s and Toy Books, Conversation, Age, and Small Playing Cards, Alphabet Wood Blocks, Valentines, Motto Verses, and Cut Motto Paper &c. No. 27 Chatham Street, (OPPOSITE CITY BALL PARK) NEW YORK.

Merry Month Of May.

‘Twas in the merry month of May,
When bees from flower to flower did hum;
Soldiers through the town march’d gay,
And all resolved to follow the drum:
From windows lasses looked a score,
And neighbors met at every door;
The soldier lads charm’d ev’ry sight,
For eyes beam’d with pleasure, hearts dane’d light.

Young Roger swore he’d leave his plough,
His team and tillage, and all, by gum!
Of a country life he’d had enough (enow,)
He’d leave them all and follow the drum.
He’d leave his trashing in the barn,
To trash his foes right soon he’d larn:
With sword in hand he would’nt parley,
But trash his foes instead of the barley.

The cobbler he threw by his awl.
When all were glad, he’d ne’er be glum,
But quick attend to glory’s call,
And like a man would follow the drum.
No more at home he’d be a slave,
But take Ins seat amid the brave;
In battle’s plains none should he prouder,
‘Stead of balls of wax he’d have balls of powder.

The tailor he got. off his knees,
And to the ranks did boldly come;
He said no more he’d sit at his ease,
But like the lads would follow the drum.
How he’d lather his foes, good lord!
When for a bodkin he’d a sword;
The foe would find he did’nt wheedle,
When he’d a spear instead of a needle.

Three old women—the first was lame.
The second was blind, the third nigh dumb—
To stay behind’s a burning shame,
So like the lads we’ll follow the drum.
Our wills are good, but lack-a-day,
To catch the lads we’ll have a try for ’t,
For where there’s a will there’s always a way,
So we’ll walk n mile or two, if we die for ’t

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