Playing at Soldiers
What little urchin is there neverHath had that early scarlet fever,Of martial trappings caught?Trappings well call'd--because they trapAnd catch full many a country chapTo go where fields are fought!
What little urchin with a ragHath never made a little flag(Our plate will show the manner),And wooed each tiny neighbor still,Tommy or Harry, Dick or Will,To come beneath the banner!
Just like that ancient shape of mist,In Hamlet, crying "'List, oh, 'list!"Come, who will serve the king,And strike frog-eating Frenchmen dead,And cut off Bonyparty's head?--And all that sort of thing.
So used I, when I was a boy,To march with military toy,And ape the soldier's life;--And with a whistle or a hum,I thought myself a Duke of DrumAt least, or Earl of Fife.
With gun of tin and sword of lath,Lord! how I walk'd in glory's pathWith regimental mates,By sound of trump and rub-a dubs--To 'siege the washhouse--charge the tubs--Or storm the garden gates.
Ah me! my retrospective soul!As over memory's muster-rollI cast my eyes anew,My former comrades all the whileRise up before me, rank and file,And form in dim review.
Ay, there they stand, and dress in line,Lubbock, and Fenn, and David Vine,And dark "Jamaeky Forde!"And limping Wood, and "Cockey Hawes,"Our captain always made, becauseHe had a real sword!
Long Lawrence, Natty Smart, and Soame,Who said he had a gun at home,But that was all a brag;Ned Ryder, too, that used to shamA prancing horse, and big Sam LambThat would hold up the flag!
Tom Anderson, and "Dunny White,"Who never right-abouted right,For he was deaf and dumb;Jack Pike, Jem Crack, and Sandy Gray,And Dickey Bird, that wouldn't playUnless he had the drum.
And Peter Holt, and Charley Jepp,A chap that never kept the step--No more did "Surly Hugh;"Bob Harrington, and "Fighting Jim"--We often had to halt for him,To let him tie his shoe.
"Quarrelsome Scott," and Martin Dick,That kill'd the bantam cock, to stickThe plumes within his hat;Bill Hook, and little Tommy Grout,That got so thump'd for calling out"Eyes right!" to "Squinting Matt."
Dan Simpson, that, with Peter Dodd,Was always in the awkward squad,And those two greedy BlakesThat took our money to the fair,To buy the corps a trumpet there,And laid it out in cakes.
Where are they now?--an open warWith open mouth declaring for?--Or fall'n in bloody fray?Compell'd to tell the truth I am,Their fights all ended with the sham,--Their soldiership in play.
Brave Soame sends cheeses out in trucks,And Martin sells the cock he plucks,And Jepp now deals in wine;Harrington bears a lawyer's bag,And warlike Lamb retains his flag,But on a tavern sign.
They tell me Cockey Hawes's swordIs seen upon a broker's board:And as for "Fighting Jim,"In Bishopsgate, last Whitsuntide,His unresisting cheek I spiedBeneath a Quaker brim!
Quarrelsome Scott is in the church,For Ryder now your eye must searchThe marts of silk and lace--Bird's drums are filled with figs, and mute,And I--I've got a substituteTo Soldier in my place!
Words in this poem 18
- tommy n.
- Bread, -- generally a penny roll; the supply of food carried by workmen as their daily allowance.
- harry v. i.
- To make a predatory incursion; to plunder or lay waste.
- duke n.
- A leader; a chief; a prince. [F. duc, fr. L. dux, ducis, leader, commander, fr. ducere to lead; akin to AS. teón to draw; cf. AS. heretoga (here army) an army leader, general, G. herzog duke]
- muster n.
- Something shown for imitation; a pattern. [OE. moustre, OF. mostre, moustre, F. montre, LL. monstra. See Muster, v. t.]
- fenn n.
- Low land overflowed, or covered wholly or partially with water, but producing sedge, coarse grasses, or other aquatic plants; boggy land; moor; marsh. [AS. fen, fenn, marsh, mud, dirt; akin to D. veen, OFries. fenne, fene, OHG. fenna, G. fenn, Icel. fen, Goth. fani mud.]
- natty a.
- Neat; tidy; spruce. -- Nat"ti*ly, adv. [Cf. Neat clean.]
- ryder n.
- A clause added to a document; a rider. See Rider.
- dickey n.
- A seat behind a carriage, for a servant.
- holt
- 3d pers. sing. pres. of Hold, contr. from holdeth.
- surly a.
- Arrogant; haughty. Cotgrave. [Probably from sir, and originally meaning, sirlike, i.e., proud. See Sir, and Like, a.]
- bantam n.
- A variety of small barnyard fowl, with feathered legs, probably brought from Bantam, a district of Java.
- grout n.
- Coarse meal; ground malt; pl. groats. [AS. grut; akin to grytt, G. grütze, griess, Icel. grautr, Lith. grudas corn, kernel, and Z. groats.]
- dodd v. t.
- To cut off, as wool from sheep's tails; to lop or clip off. [OE. dodden.]
- squad n.
- A small party of men assembled for drill, inspection, or other purposes. [F. escouade, fr. Sp. escuadra, or It. squadra, (assumed) LL. exquadrare to square; L. ex + quadra a square. See Square.]
- corps n.
- The human body, whether living or dead. See Corpse, 1. [F., fr. L. corpus body. See Corpse.]
- soldiership n.
- Military qualities or state; martial skill; behavior becoming a soldier.
- whitsuntide n.
- The week commencing with Whitsunday, esp. the first three days -- Whitsunday, Whitsun Monday, and Whitsun Tuesday; the time of Pentecost. R. of Gloucester. [Whitsunday + tide.]
- quaker n.
- One who quakes.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Playing at Soldiers 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, Playing at Soldiers, 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/playing-at-soldiers.html, id L20212.
Form and metre
Playing at Soldiers is 96 lines in 16 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABCCB, complete in 14 of its 16 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 --ABBA never · fever · caughtA · trapB · chapB · foughtA
- 2 AABCCB ragA · flagA · mannerB · stillC · willC · bannerB
- 3 AABCCB mistA · listA · kingB · deadC · headC · thingB
- 4 AABCCB boyA · toyA · lifeB · humC · drumC · fifeB
- 5 AABCCB lathA · pathA · matesB · dubsC · tubsC · gatesB
- 6 AABCCB soulA · rollA · anewB · whileC · fileC · reviewB
- 7 AABCCB lineA · vineA · fordeB · hawesC · becauseC · swordB
- 8 --ABBA soame · home · bragA · shamB · lambB · flagA
- 9 AABCCB whiteA · rightA · dumbB · grayC · playC · drumB
- 10 AABCCB jeppA · stepA · hughB · jimC · himC · shoeB
- 11 AABCCB dickA · stickA · hatB · groutC · outC · mattB
- 12 AABCCB doddA · squadA · blakesB · fairC · thereC · cakesB
- 13 AABCCB warA · forA · frayB · amC · shamC · playB
- 14 AABCCB trucksA · plucksA · wineB · bagC · flagC · signB
- 15 AABCCB swordA · boardA · jimB · whitsuntideC · spiedC · brimB
- 16 AABCCB churchA · searchA · laceB · muteC · substituteC · placeB
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 iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| What little urchin is there never | 9 | ·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Hath had that early scarlet fever, | 9 | ···/˘/˘/˘ |
| Of martial trappings caught? | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Trappings well call'd--because they trap | 8 | /˘······ |
| And catch full many a country chap | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| To go where fields are fought! | 6 | ······ |
| What little urchin with a rag | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Hath never made a little flag | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| (Our plate will show the manner), | 8 | /˘····/˘ |
| And wooed each tiny neighbor still, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Tommy or Harry, Dick or Will, | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| To come beneath the banner! | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Just like that ancient shape of mist, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| In Hamlet, crying "'List, oh, 'list!" | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Come, who will serve the king, | 6 | ······ |
| And strike frog-eating Frenchmen dead, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And cut off Bonyparty's head?-- | 8 | ········ |
| And all that sort of thing. | 6 | ······ |
| So used I, when I was a boy, | 8 | ········ |
| To march with military toy, | 8 | ···/˘·˘· |
| And ape the soldier's life;-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And with a whistle or a hum, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I thought myself a Duke of Drum | 8 | ···/···· |
| At least, or Earl of Fife. | 6 | ······ |
| With gun of tin and sword of lath, | 8 | ········ |
| Lord! how I walk'd in glory's path | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| With regimental mates, | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| By sound of trump and rub-a dubs-- | 8 | ········ |
| To 'siege the washhouse--charge the tubs-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Or storm the garden gates. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Ah me! my retrospective soul! | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| As over memory's muster-roll | 8 | ··/˘˘/˘· |
| I cast my eyes anew, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| My former comrades all the while | 8 | ·/˘/···· |
| Rise up before me, rank and file, | 8 | ········ |
| And form in dim review. | 6 | ·····/ |
| Ay, there they stand, and dress in line, | 8 | ········ |
| Lubbock, and Fenn, and David Vine, | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| And dark "Jamaeky Forde!" | 6 | ······ |
| And limping Wood, and "Cockey Hawes," | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Our captain always made, because | 8 | //˘/˘··· |
| He had a real sword! | 5 | ····· |
| Long Lawrence, Natty Smart, and Soame, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Who said he had a gun at home, | 8 | ········ |
| But that was all a brag; | 6 | ······ |
| Ned Ryder, too, that used to sham | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| A prancing horse, and big Sam Lamb | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| That would hold up the flag! | 6 | ······ |
| Tom Anderson, and "Dunny White," | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| Who never right-abouted right, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| For he was deaf and dumb; | 6 | ······ |
| Jack Pike, Jem Crack, and Sandy Gray, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And Dickey Bird, that wouldn't play | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Unless he had the drum. | 6 | ······ |
| And Peter Holt, and Charley Jepp, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| A chap that never kept the step-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| No more did "Surly Hugh;" | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Bob Harrington, and "Fighting Jim"-- | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| We often had to halt for him, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| To let him tie his shoe. | 6 | ······ |
| "Quarrelsome Scott," and Martin Dick, | 8 | /˘˘··/˘· |
| That kill'd the bantam cock, to stick | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The plumes within his hat; | 6 | ······ |
| Bill Hook, and little Tommy Grout, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| That got so thump'd for calling out | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "Eyes right!" to "Squinting Matt." | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Dan Simpson, that, with Peter Dodd, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Was always in the awkward squad, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| And those two greedy Blakes | 6 | ···/˘· |
| That took our money to the fair, | 8 | ··//˘··· |
| To buy the corps a trumpet there, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And laid it out in cakes. | 6 | ······ |
| Where are they now?--an open war | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| With open mouth declaring for?-- | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| Or fall'n in bloody fray? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Compell'd to tell the truth I am, | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Their fights all ended with the sham,-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Their soldiership in play. | 6 | ·/˘˘·· |
| Brave Soame sends cheeses out in trucks, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And Martin sells the cock he plucks, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And Jepp now deals in wine; | 6 | ······ |
| Harrington bears a lawyer's bag, | 8 | /˘˘··/˘· |
| And warlike Lamb retains his flag, | 8 | ·/··˘/·· |
| But on a tavern sign. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| They tell me Cockey Hawes's sword | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Is seen upon a broker's board: | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And as for "Fighting Jim," | 6 | ···/˘· |
| In Bishopsgate, last Whitsuntide, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| His unresisting cheek I spied | 8 | ········ |
| Beneath a Quaker brim! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Quarrelsome Scott is in the church, | 8 | /˘˘····· |
| For Ryder now your eye must search | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The marts of silk and lace-- | 6 | ······ |
| Bird's drums are filled with figs, and mute, | 8 | ········ |
| And I--I've got a substitute | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To Soldier in my place! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
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