MALBROUCK has gone a-fighting, | |
| Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, | |
| Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, | |
| But when will he return? | |
| |
| Perchance he’ll come at Easter, | 5 |
| Or else at Trinity Term. | |
| |
| But Trinity Term is over | |
| And Malbrouck comes not yet. | |
| |
| My Lady climbs her watch-tower | |
| As high as she can get. | 10 |
| |
| She sees her page approaching | |
| All clad in sable hue: | |
| |
| ‘Ah, page, brave page, what tidings | |
| From my true lord bring you?’ | |
| |
| ‘The news I bring, fair Lady, | 15 |
| Will make your tears run down; | |
| |
| ‘Put off your rose-red dress so fine | |
| And doff your satin gown. | |
| |
| ‘Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! | |
| And buried too, for ay; | 20 |
| |
| ‘I saw four officers who bore | |
| His mighty corse away. | |
| |
| ‘One bore his cuirass, and his friend | |
| His shield of iron wrought; | |
| |
| ‘The third his mighty sabre bore, | 25 |
| And the fourth—he carried nought. | |
| |
| ‘And at the corners of his tomb | |
| They planted rose-marie; | |
| |
| ‘And from their tops the nightingale | |
| Rings out her carol free. | 30 |
| |
| ‘We saw, above the laurels, | |
| His soul fly forth amain; | |
| |
| ‘And each one fell upon his face | |
| And then rose up again. | |
| |
| ‘And so we sang the glories | 35 |
| For which great Malbrouck bled; | |
| |
| ‘And when the whole was ended | |
| Each one went off to bed. | |
| |
| ‘I say no more, my Lady, | |
| Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, | 40 |
| I say no more, my Lady, | |
| As nought more can be said.’ | |
| |
