The Old Grey Mare

At break of day I chanced to stray
All by the Seine's fair side,
When to ease my heart young Bonaparte
Came forward to ride.
On a field of green, with gallant mien,
He formed his men in square
And down the line with looks divine
He rode his old grey mare.

My sporting boys that's tall and straight,
Take counsel and be wise,
Attention pay to what I say,
My lecture don't despise;
Let patience guide you everywhere
And from traitors wiles beware,
For there's none but him who's sound within
Can ride my old grey mare.

Bonaparte on her did start,
He rode too fast, is truagh (1)
She lost a shoe at Moscow Fair
And got lamed at Waterloo.
But wait till she comes back again
Where she'll have farrier's care,
And the very next date she'll win the plate,
My sporting old grey mare.

Here's to the man that's six foot one,
And more then, if you choose,
That stands up straight without deceit,
In Spanish leather shows;
Likewise the youth that tells the truth
That he may have liberty fair,
who loves the cause of Bonaparte
Upon his old grey mare.

(1) Is truagh = it is sorrowful.