Malbrouck

Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,
Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,
But when will he return ?

Perchance he'll come at Easter,
Or else at Trinity Term.

But Trinity Term is over
And Malbrouck comes not yet.
My Lady climbs her watch-tower
As high as she can get.
She sees her page approaching
All clad in sable hue :
‘Ah, page, brave page, what tidings
From my true lord bring you ? '
‘The news I bring, fair Lady,
Will make your tears run down ;
‘Put off your rose-red dress so fine
And doff your satin gown.
‘Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas !
And buried too, for ay ;
‘I saw four officers who bore
His mighty corse away.
‘One bore his cuirass, and his friend
His shield of iron wrought ;
‘The third his mighty sabre bore,
And the fourth — he carried nought.
‘And at the corners of his tomb
They planted rose-marie ;
‘And from their tops the nightingale
Rings out her carol free.

‘We saw, above the laurels,
His soul fly forth amain ;
‘And each one fell upon his face
And then rose up again.
‘And so we sang the glories
For which great Malbrouck bled ;
‘And when the whole was ended
Each one went off to bed.
‘I say no more, my Lady,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,
I say no more, my Lady,
As nought more can be said.'