The R.S.M. Poem by David Lewis Paget

‘Atten-shun!
Stand by your gun!
And look in the Frenchies eyes,
They're marching down at the sound of the drum
So many they look like flies.
Don't be afraid of the French Cockade
They're flesh and blood, like you,
We'll scatter them over the battlefield
On this hill, near Waterloo.'

‘Right Dress,
Look at your best,
You're here for the King and Queen,
Let's have no slovenly army dress
If you die, they'll say, ‘He's clean! '
Your Red coat's more than a match for the Blue,
It's just a matter of course,
Old Boney's riding across at the rear
Astride of his pure white horse! '

‘Eyes front,
Look to your gun,
And gather your cannister shot,
One can will decimate fifty French
And pile their bodies to rot.
You'll tear the cavalry horse to shreds
And pile them high at the front,
They'll have to clamber over the lot
While you're reloading your gun.'

Stand fast!
Think of your lass,
How proud she will be of you,
Taking apart proud Bonaparte
At the Battle of Waterloo.
Hey gunner! You! Take over the gun
He's slipped and died in the mud,
Don't look so green at the sights you've seen,
He's dead, and it's only blood! '

‘You there!
Form in a square,
The Lancers are over the hill,
Wait ‘til you see the whites of their eyes
Then front rank, fire at will.'
Their horses speared on a line of stakes
The French turned back in fear,
The R.S.M. raised his voice up then,
‘We've got them - Blucher's here! '

23 February 2013