A Waterloo Ballad
To Waterloo, with sad ado,And many a sigh and groan,Amongst the dead, came Patty Head,To look for Peter Stone.
"O prithee tell, good sentinel,If I shall find him here?I'm come to weep upon his corse,My Ninety-Second dear!
"Into our town a sergeant came,With ribands all so fine,A-flaunting in his cap--alas!His bow enlisted mine!
"They taught him how to turn his toes,And stand as stiff as starch;I thought that it was love and May,But it was love and March!
"A sorry March indeed to leaveThe friends he might have kep',--No March of Intellect it was,But quite a foolish step.
"O prithee tell, good sentinel,If hereabout he lies?I want a corpse with reddish hair,And very sweet blue eyes."
Her sorrow on the sentinelAppear'd to deeply strike:--"Walk in," he said, "among the dead,And pick out which you like."
And soon she picked out Peter Stone,Half turned into a corse;A cannon was his bolster, andHis mattrass was a horse.
"O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone,Lord, here has been a skrimmage!What have they done to your poor breastThat used to hold my image?"
"O Patty Head, O Patty Head,You're come to my last kissing;Before I'm set in the GazetteAs wounded, dead, and missing!
"Alas! a splinter of a shellRight in my stomach sticks;French mortars don't agree so wellWith stomachs as French bricks.
"This very night a merry danceAt Brussels was to be;--Instead of opening a ball,A ball has open'd me.
"Its billet every bullet has,And well it does fulfil it;--I wish mine hadn't come so straight.But been a 'crooked billet.'
"And then there came a cuirassierAnd cut me on the chest;--He had no pity in his heart,For he had steel'd his breast.
"Next thing a lancer, with his lance,Began to thrust away;I call'd for quarter, but, alas!It was not Quarter-day.
"He ran his spear right through my arm,Just here above the joint;--O Patty dear, it was no joke,Although it had a point.
"With loss of blood I fainted off,As dead as women do--But soon by charging over me,The Coldstream brought me to.
"With kicks and cuts, and balls and blows,I throb and ache all over;I'm quite convinc'd the field of MarsIs not a field of clover!
"O why did I a soldier turnFor any royal Guelph?I might have been a Butcher, andIn business for myself!
"O why did I the bounty take?(And here he gasp'd for breath)My shillingsworth of 'list is nail'dUpon the door of death!
"Without a coffin I shall lieAnd sleep my sleep eternal:Not ev'n a shell--my only chanceOf being made a Kernel!
"O Patty dear, our wedding bellsWill never ring at Chester!Here I must lie in Honor's bed,That isn't worth a tester!
"Farewell, my regimental mates,With whom I used to dress!My corps is changed, and I am nowIn quite another mess.
"Farewell, my Patty dear, I haveNo dying consolations,Except, when I am dead, you'll goAnd see th' Illuminations."
Words in this poem 16
- amongst prep.
- Mixed or mingled; surrounded by. [OE. amongist, amonges, amonge, among, AS. onmang, ongemang, gemang, in a crowd or mixture. For the ending -st see Amidst. See Mingle.]
- prithee interj.
- A corruption of pray thee; as, I prithee; generally used without I.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- corse n.
- A living body or its bulk. [OF. cors, F. corps. See Corpse.]
- corpse n.
- A human body in general, whether living or dead; -- sometimes contemptuosly. [OF. cors (sometimes written corps), F. corps, L. corpus; akin to AS. hrif womb. See Midriff, and cf. Corse, Corselet, Corps, Cuerpo.]
- bolster n.
- A long pillow or cushion, used to support the head of a person lying on a bed; -- generally laid under the pillows. [AS. bolster; akin to Icel. b, Sw. & Dan. bolster, OHG. bolstar, polstar, G. polster; from the same root as E. bole stem, bowl hollow vessel. Cf. Bulge, Poltroon]
- gazette n.
- A newspaper; a printed sheet published periodically; esp., the official journal published by the British government, and containing legal and state notices. [F. gazette, It. gazzetta, perh. from gazetta a Venetian coin (see Gazet), said to have been the price of the first newspaper published at Venice; or perh. dim. ]
- billet n.
- A small paper; a note; a short letter. [F. billet, dim. of an OF. bille bill. See Bill a writing.]
- cuirassier n.
- A soldier armed with a cuirass. [F. cuirassier. See Curass.]
- lancer n.
- One who lances; one who carries a lance; especially, a member of a mounted body of men armed with lances, attached to the cavalry service of some nations. Wilhelm. [Cf. F. lancier.]
- throb v. i.
- To beat, or pulsate, with more than usual force or rapidity; to beat in consequence of agitation; to palpitate; -- said of the heart, pulse, etc. [OE. ; of uncertain origin; cf. Russ. trepete a trembling, and E. trepidation.]
- ache n.
- A name given to several species of plants; as, smallage, wild celery, parsley. Holland. [F. ache, L. apium parsley.]
- guelph n.
- One of a faction in Germany and Italy, in the 12th and 13th centuries, which supported the House of Guelph and the pope, and opposed the Ghibellines, or faction of the German emperors. [It. Guelfo, from Welf, the name of a German family.]
- bounty n.
- Goodness, kindness; virtue; worth. [OE. bounte goodness, kindness, F. bonté, fr. L. bonitas, fr. bonus good, for older duonus; cf. Skr. duvas honor, respect.]
- tester n.
- A headpiece; a helmet. [OE. testere a headpiece, helmet, OF. testiere, F. têtière a head covering, fr. OF. teste the head, F. tête, fr. L. testa an earthen pot, the skull. See Test a c]
- corps n.
- The human body, whether living or dead. See Corpse, 1. [F., fr. L. corpus body. See Corpse.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Waterloo Ballad is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Project Gutenberg ebook #15652; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Hood, A Waterloo Ballad, in The Song of the Shirt, and Other Poems (1826–1845), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #15652, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hood-poetical-works/a-waterloo-ballad.html, id L20167.
Form and metre
A Waterloo Ballad is 96 lines in 24 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 94%).
See other poems in common measure.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A ado · groanA · head · stoneA
- 2 -A-A sentinel · hereA · corse · dearA
- 3 -A-A came · fineA · alas · mineA
- 4 -A-A toes · starchA · may · marchA
- 6 -A-A sentinel · liesA · hair · eyesA
- 7 -A-A sentinel · strikeA · dead · likeA
- 8 -A-A stone · corseA · and · horseA
- 9 -A-A stone · skrimmageA · breast · imageA
- 10 -A-A head · kissingA · gazette · missingA
- 11 ABAB shellA · sticksB · wellA · bricksB
- 12 -A-A dance · beA · ball · meA
- 13 -AAA has · itA · straightA · billetA
- 14 -A-A cuirassier · chestA · heart · breastA
- 15 -A-A lance · awayA · alas · dayA
- 16 -A-A arm · jointA · joke · pointA
- 17 -A-A off · doA · me · toA
- 18 -A-A blows · overA · mars · cloverA
- 19 -A-A turn · guelphA · and · myselfA
- 20 -A-A take · breathA · nail'd · deathA
- 21 -A-A lie · eternalA · chance · kernelA
- 22 -A-A bells · chesterA · bed · testerA
- 23 -A-A mates · dressA · now · messA
- 24 -A-A have · consolationsA · go · illuminationsA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| To Waterloo, with sad ado, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| And many a sigh and groan, | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Amongst the dead, came Patty Head, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To look for Peter Stone. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "O prithee tell, good sentinel, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| If I shall find him here? | 6 | ······ |
| I'm come to weep upon his corse, | 8 | ········ |
| My Ninety-Second dear! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| "Into our town a sergeant came, | 8 | ··/··/˘· |
| With ribands all so fine, | 6 | ······ |
| A-flaunting in his cap--alas! | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| His bow enlisted mine! | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| "They taught him how to turn his toes, | 8 | ········ |
| And stand as stiff as starch; | 6 | ······ |
| I thought that it was love and May, | 8 | ········ |
| But it was love and March! | 6 | ······ |
| "A sorry March indeed to leave | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| The friends he might have kep',-- | 6 | ······ |
| No March of Intellect it was, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But quite a foolish step. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "O prithee tell, good sentinel, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| If hereabout he lies? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| I want a corpse with reddish hair, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And very sweet blue eyes." | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Her sorrow on the sentinel | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| Appear'd to deeply strike:-- | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| "Walk in," he said, "among the dead, | 8 | ········ |
| And pick out which you like." | 6 | ······ |
| And soon she picked out Peter Stone, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Half turned into a corse; | 6 | ······ |
| A cannon was his bolster, and | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| His mattrass was a horse. | 6 | ······ |
| "O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Lord, here has been a skrimmage! | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| What have they done to your poor breast | 8 | ········ |
| That used to hold my image?" | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| "O Patty Head, O Patty Head, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| You're come to my last kissing; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Before I'm set in the Gazette | 8 | ······˘/ |
| As wounded, dead, and missing! | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| "Alas! a splinter of a shell | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| Right in my stomach sticks; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| French mortars don't agree so well | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| With stomachs as French bricks. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| "This very night a merry dance | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| At Brussels was to be;-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Instead of opening a ball, | 8 | ˘/·/˘˘·· |
| A ball has open'd me. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "Its billet every bullet has, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| And well it does fulfil it;-- | 7 | ······· |
| I wish mine hadn't come so straight. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But been a 'crooked billet.' | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| "And then there came a cuirassier | 8 | ········ |
| And cut me on the chest;-- | 6 | ······ |
| He had no pity in his heart, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| For he had steel'd his breast. | 6 | ······ |
| "Next thing a lancer, with his lance, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Began to thrust away; | 6 | ˘/··˘/ |
| I call'd for quarter, but, alas! | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| It was not Quarter-day. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "He ran his spear right through my arm, | 8 | ········ |
| Just here above the joint;-- | 6 | ······ |
| O Patty dear, it was no joke, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Although it had a point. | 6 | ······ |
| "With loss of blood I fainted off, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| As dead as women do-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But soon by charging over me, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The Coldstream brought me to. | 6 | ······ |
| "With kicks and cuts, and balls and blows, | 8 | ········ |
| I throb and ache all over; | 7 | ······· |
| I'm quite convinc'd the field of Mars | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Is not a field of clover! | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| "O why did I a soldier turn | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| For any royal Guelph? | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| I might have been a Butcher, and | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In business for myself! | 6 | ·/˘··/ |
| "O why did I the bounty take? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| (And here he gasp'd for breath) | 6 | ······ |
| My shillingsworth of 'list is nail'd | 8 | ········ |
| Upon the door of death! | 6 | ······ |
| "Without a coffin I shall lie | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And sleep my sleep eternal: | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Not ev'n a shell--my only chance | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of being made a Kernel! | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| "O Patty dear, our wedding bells | 8 | ·/˘·//˘· |
| Will never ring at Chester! | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| Here I must lie in Honor's bed, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| That isn't worth a tester! | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| "Farewell, my regimental mates, | 8 | ·/··˘/˘· |
| With whom I used to dress! | 6 | ······ |
| My corps is changed, and I am now | 8 | ········ |
| In quite another mess. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| "Farewell, my Patty dear, I have | 8 | ·/·/˘··· |
| No dying consolations, | 7 | ·/˘·˘/˘ |
| Except, when I am dead, you'll go | 8 | ········ |
| And see th' Illuminations." | 7 | ··˘·˘/˘ |
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