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Your facetiousness accepted in the spirit that it was intended, Jock.

Even George F's, Dublin Fusiliers were an honourable regiment, but do they take the record of the oldest military organisation? Can't actually recall Julius Caesar mentioning them in his records though.

Yours Aye


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Post Thy mate, my zon, died viten vur His King and countery. 

Nunno! A shaant goo inta Wirkhouse
While I've a crowst a bread,
An can manage var ta keep
A roo auver me yead.

As long as I have got me health
An straingth ta yarn a shillin,
An tha parish voke ull low a bit,
Ta keep un I'll be willin.

An if tha wunt, I'd zooner pinch
Tha zee un goo up there,
Aelthough 'tis baddish times anuff
An nuthen I've ta speare.

Var poor woold man he's haighty-two
His hair's as white as snow,
An totterin is his gait an step,
A da sheak an trimble zo.

Mworn zixty years a shepperdin
A wur apon the plaain,
As bwoy, an man, a tenden sheep
I wind an starm and rain.

An many tha zites he've seed,
An many be tha tales,
What 'appen'd when a wur a bwoy,
Amang thease hills and vales.

When I, a chile, how many times
He've took I on his knee,
A t'would I bout girt Wellington
An his veamous victory.

An tears thay hood rin out his eyes,
As thic tale he went droo,
Var his ony bwoy: my father brave,
Wur killed at Waterloo.

Eece, an well he caals to mine tha day
When tha steage coach did rattle
We lightening speed ael droo thease vale
We news of thic girt battle.

How, when a stopped a leetle while
At tha public on tha green,
Tha village voke ael vlocked aroun
To hear tha news za keen.

And when t'wur know'd that Wellington,
Had konkerd Boneypart,
What cheers went up, za long and loud,
Vrim every English heart.

Var droo the country Boney's neam
Had caas'd voke firt alarm,
An down right thankvull wur em now
A cooden do no yarm.

An long tha thankvull cheers went up
An drink went vreely round,
We jay, becaas tha English voke
Had beat the Vrenchmin zound.

Nevir avore, an nevir zunce
Av ther bin zich adoo,
Ael droo tha lan, as when tha news
Did com bout Waterloo.

Var twur a glorious vite, da zaay,
Wool zawljers, brave an hoary,
Who's livin now ta tell about
Thic ar veam'd day a glory.

Bit when tha vlush a victory
Had passed away again,
What mwournen did goo droo tha lan
Var thousands that wur slain.

An when tha news rach'd gramfer's cot
That Fiather he wur kill'd,
What tears sur shed, what anguish keen
Mother and Granfer vill'd

Bit nevir mind me lass, zaays he,
A Fiather now I'll be,
Thy mate, my zon, died viten vur
His King and countery.

Tha widder an tha vatherless
A took into his cot,
An well a keer'd var bouath a we,
Till I ta manhood got.

An shill I then, now he is woold,
Not yeable var ta wirk,
Ze un goo hoff ta Wirkhouse,
An me bounden duty shirk.

Nunno, a shaant goo inta Wirhouse,
Bit com an sheare me cot,
Tho' main scanty be me means,
A shill have haf I got.

Var poor woold man he's helpless quite,
An veeble as a chile,
His wants be vew, his hearts content,
Var ael he've got a smile.

An shood er live a vew more years,
I'll do my baste ta cheer
An brighten up his days a bit,
As long as he be here.

In zummer, wen tha days be warm,
In archet he shill perch,
Under tha girt elm tree an watch
Tha voke goo inta church.

An when that evenis thay be vine,
I'll vill his heart wie jay,
An teak un out amang tha zenes
A rambled, wen a bwoy.

I'll draa un out on top tha hill,
In squire's dree-wheel'd cheer,
Zo's he can look aroun wonce mwore
On zenes that be za dear.

An wen tha gloomy winter comes,
An vrost an snow be here,
He shill zit warm an cozy like,
In his girt big yarm cheer.

An while tha log is burnin bright,
Agean he shall goo droo,
his oft twould tale a Wellinton
An tha vite at Waterloo.

Zoo a shaant goo inta wirkhouse,
While I've a crowst a bread,
An can manage var ta keep
A roof auver me yead.

By Edward Slow.

Merdeka, Merdeka, Merdeka,
from the HD Committee and its decision.
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