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A Wandering Minstrel, I,
a thing of shreds and patches,
Of ballad songs and snatches, and dreamy lullaby!
My catalogue is vast, through every passion ranging,
And to your humours changing I tune my supple song!
I tune my supple song.!
Are you in sentimental mood?
I’ll sigh with you, Oh, sorrow!
On maiden’s coldness do you brood?
I’ll do so too. Oh, sorrow, sorrow!
I’ll charm your willing ears with songs of lovers’ fears,
While sympathetic tears my cheeks bedew! Oh, sorrow, sorrow!
But if patriotic sentiment is wanted,
I’ve patriotic ballads cut and dried;
For wheree’er our country’s banner may be planted,
All other local banners are defied!
Our warriors in serried ranks assembled,
Never quail, or they conceal it if they do,
And I shouldn’t be surprised if nations trembled
Before the mighty troops, the troops of Titipu!
And if you call for a song of the sea,
We’ll heave the capstan round,
With a yeo, heave ho, for the wind is free,
Her anchors a-trip and her helm’s a-lee,
Hurrah for the homeward bound!
To lay aloft in a howling breeze may tickle a landsman’s taste,
But the happiest hour a sailor sees
Is when he’s down at an inland town,
With his Nancy on his knees, Yeo ho!
And his arm around her waist.
A Wandering Minstrel, I, a thing of shreds and patches,
Of ballad songs and snatches, and dreamy lullaby.
And dreamy lulla—lullaby, lullaby!