The Queen she sent to look for me, The sergeant he did say, Young man, a soldier will you be For thirteen pence a day? For thirteen pence a day did I Take off the things I wore, And I have marched to where I lie, And I shall march no more. My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, My blood runs all away, So now I shall not die in debt For thirteen pence a day. To-morrow after new young men The sergeant he must see, For things will all be over then Between the Queen and me. And I shall have to bate my price, For in the grave, they say, Is neither knowledge nor device Nor thirteen pence a day.
Return to the A. E. Housman library , or . . . Read the next poem; Hell's Gate