All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into rhyme, 
Dust is swimming dizzily down the village street, 
The scabbards are clattering, the feathers nodding time, 
To a clink of many horses' shoes, a tramp of many feet. 

Seven score of Cavaliers fighting for the King, 
Trolling lusty stirrup-songs, clamouring for wine, 
Riding with a loose rein, marching with a swing, 
Beneath the blue bannerol of Rupert of the Rhine. 

Hey the merry company ; -- the loud fifes playing -- 
Blue scarves and bright steel and blossom of the may, 
Roses in the feathered hats, the long plumes swaying, 
A king's son ahead of them showing them the way.