Ah, lass, and Ďtis a brutal night-
Too bad for man or beast.
Iíd like a flagon of your best-
And bite to eat at least....
No beds? It matters not at all-
Iíll sleep on yonder floor-
And wií me naked blade to hand-
Iíll gladly guard yon door.
Who am I? Names donít count a wit
Itís what I am that counts
And what I do that pays me way-
And settles me accounts.
A soldier! Aye, all that and more!
A Scotsman if ye please!
Iíve marched to battle to the pipes-
While English took their ease.
How old? Now lass, I canna say-
I guess I dinna recall.
When I first came the bloody moon-
Was very .very small.
Me, sword ye say? Itís different...
I guess it is at that,
Here near the hiltítis slender-
Where Scottish swords are fat.
And shorter, too: than average.
By near a foot I guess..
But in the heat of battle-
The short sword is the best.
Rufo used to tell us.....
Hmm, whereíd I get that name..
I donít recall the rascalís face,
And thats a bloominí shame.
I watched as Rome was burning-
I know tis hard to bílieve-
For centuries haí passed twixt then
And this, so stormy eve...
A, soldier lass, I swear Ďtis so.
Upon me very life
By salt, by fire, the bansheeís cry;
And by me Khyber knife.
Whatís that? Yeíd have me move along?
On such a night as this?
Iím daft ye say? Iíve done gone on?
Ah, yeíre mistaken , Miss...
Well, lass, Iíll brave the elements
No roof for me poor head....
If not for soldiers such as I
Yeíd all long since be dead.
I marched wií Ceasarís legions
And fought in the Crusades,
Anímany donneybrooks between
Which memory evades.
Aye, leave I will, and curse the place
And curse you pretty Miss,
To turn a traveler from your door
On such a night as this. .
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