by John Cunningham
The Muse of a soldier so whinisical sings,
He's captain at once to four different kings;
And though in their battles he boldly behaves,
To their queens he's a cull, and a dupe to their knaves.
Whilst others are cheerfully join'd in the chase,
Young Hobbinol's hunting the critical ace:
On feasts or on fasts though the parson exclaim,
Under hedges or haycocks he'll stick to his game:
Yet the priest cannot say he's quite out of his fold,
For he's always at church—when a tithe's to be sold.
Last updated January 14, 2019