Percy French
You've heard of Julius Caesar and the great Napoleon too,
And how the Cork militia beat the Turks at Waterloo;
But there's a page of glory that as yet remains uncut,
And that's the martial story of the Slattery's Mounted Foot.
This gallant corps was organised by Slattery and his son,
A noble-hearted poacher with a double-breasted gun.
And many a head was broken, aye, and many an eye was shut,
When learning to manoeuvre with the Slattery's Mounted Foot.
And down from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons;
When going into action held each musket by the butt,
We sang a song and marched along with Slattery's Mounted Foot.
Well, first we reconnoitered 'round O'Sullivan's Shebeen-
It used to be the cookhouse but we called it the canteen;
And there we saw a notice which the bravest heart unnerved:
"All liquor must be settled for before the drink is served."
So on we marched, but soon again each warrior's heart grew pale,
For rising high in front of us we saw the county jail;
And when the army turned around, 'twas just in time to find,
A couple of stout policemen had surrounded us behind.
"We'll cross the ditch," our leader cried, "and take the forward flank;"
But yells of consternation then arose from every rank;
For posted high upon a tree we very plainly saw:
"Trespassers prosecuted, in accordance with the law."
"We're foiled again!" said Slattery, "here ends our great campaign,
'Tis merely throwing life away to try that awful drain;
I'm not as brave as lions but I'm braver nor a hen,
And he that fights and runs away will live to fight again."
We reached the mountains safely, but all stiff and sore from cramp.
Each one of us took took a whiskey neat to dissipate the damp;
And when the pipes we all were filled, bold Slattery up and said:
Today's immortal fight will be remembered by the dead."
"I never will forget," said he, "while this brave heart shall beat,
The eager way you followed when I sounded the retreat.
Ye learned the soldier's maxim, when desisting from the strife:
'Best be a coward five minutes than a dead man all your life.'"
