A Waterloo Ballad Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCB DEFG HIJI KLML NOPO DQRQ DSCS BFTF BUVU CWXW YZYZ A2B2C2B2 D2E2F2 RVG2V A2MJM H2I2J2I2 K2AB2A KRL2R M2K2TK2 N2O2P2O2 Q2DA2D R2RCR S2T2U2T2 K2V2W2V2| To Waterloo with sad ado | A |
| And many a sigh and groan | B |
| Amongst the dead came Patty Head | C |
| To look for Peter Stone | B |
| - | |
| O prithee tell good sentinel | D |
| If I shall find him here | E |
| I'm come to weep upon his corse | F |
| My Ninety Second dear | G |
| - | |
| Into our town a sergeant came | H |
| With ribands all so fine | I |
| A flaunting in his cap alas | J |
| His bow enlisted mine | I |
| - | |
| They taught him how to turn his toes | K |
| And stand as stiff as starch | L |
| I thought that it was love and May | M |
| But it was love and March | L |
| - | |
| A sorry March indeed to leave | N |
| The friends he might have kep' | O |
| No March of Intellect it was | P |
| But quite a foolish step | O |
| - | |
| O prithee tell good sentinel | D |
| If hereabout he lies | Q |
| I want a corpse with reddish hair | R |
| And very sweet blue eyes | Q |
| - | |
| Her sorrow on the sentinel | D |
| Appear'd to deeply strike | S |
| Walk in he said among the dead | C |
| And pick out which you like | S |
| - | |
| And soon she picked out Peter Stone | B |
| Half turned into a corse | F |
| A cannon was his bolster and | T |
| His mattrass was a horse | F |
| - | |
| O Peter Stone O Peter Stone | B |
| Lord here has been a skrimmage | U |
| What have they done to your poor breast | V |
| That used to hold my image | U |
| - | |
| O Patty Head O Patty Head | C |
| You're come to my last kissing | W |
| Before I'm set in the Gazette | X |
| As wounded dead and missing | W |
| - | |
| Alas a splinter of a shell | Y |
| Right in my stomach sticks | Z |
| French mortars don't agree so well | Y |
| With stomachs as French bricks | Z |
| - | |
| This very night a merry dance | A2 |
| At Brussels was to be | B2 |
| Instead of opening a ball | C2 |
| A ball has open'd me | B2 |
| - | |
| Its billet every bullet has | D2 |
| And well it does fulfil it | E2 |
| I wish mine hadn't come so straight | F2 |
| But been a 'crooked billet ' | - |
| - | |
| And then there came a cuirassier | R |
| And cut me on the chest | V |
| He had no pity in his heart | G2 |
| For he had steel'd his breast | V |
| - | |
| Next thing a lancer with his lance | A2 |
| Began to thrust away | M |
| I call'd for quarter but alas | J |
| It was not Quarter day | M |
| - | |
| He ran his spear right through my arm | H2 |
| Just here above the joint | I2 |
| O Patty dear it was no joke | J2 |
| Although it had a point | I2 |
| - | |
| With loss of blood I fainted off | K2 |
| As dead as women do | A |
| But soon by charging over me | B2 |
| The Coldstream brought me to | A |
| - | |
| With kicks and cuts and balls and blows | K |
| I throb and ache all over | R |
| I'm quite convinc'd the field of Mars | L2 |
| Is not a field of clover | R |
| - | |
| O why did I a soldier turn | M2 |
| For any royal Guelph | K2 |
| I might have been a Butcher and | T |
| In business for myself | K2 |
| - | |
| O why did I the bounty take | N2 |
| And here he gasp'd for breath | O2 |
| My shillingsworth of 'list is nail'd | P2 |
| Upon the door of death | O2 |
| - | |
| Without a coffin I shall lie | Q2 |
| And sleep my sleep eternal | D |
| Not ev'n a shell my only chance | A2 |
| Of being made a Kernel | D |
| - | |
| O Patty dear our wedding bells | R2 |
| Will never ring at Chester | R |
| Here I must lie in Honor's bed | C |
| That isn't worth a tester | R |
| - | |
| Farewell my regimental mates | S2 |
| With whom I used to dress | T2 |
| My corps is changed and I am now | U2 |
| In quite another mess | T2 |
| - | |
| Farewell my Patty dear I have | K2 |
| No dying consolations | V2 |
| Except when I am dead you'll go | W2 |
| And see th' Illuminations | V2 |
Thomas Hood
(1)
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About A Waterloo Ballad
A Waterloo Ballad is a poem by Thomas Hood. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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