The Bonny Bunch of Roses.


By the borders of the ocean,
One morning in the month of June,
For to hear those warlike songsters,
Their cheerful notes and sweetly tune.
I overheard a female talking,
Who seemed to be in grief and wo,
Conversing with young Bonaparte,
Concerning the Bonny bunch of Roses, oh!

Then up steps young Napoleon,
And takes his mother by the hand,
Saying mother daer have patience,
Until I am able to command;
Then I will take an army,
Thro' tremendous dangers I will go,
In spite of all the universe,
I will conquer the Bonny bunch of Roses, oh

The first time that I saw young Bonaparte,
Down on his bended knees fell he,
He asked the pardon of his father,
Who granted it most mournfully.
Dear son, he said, I'll take an army,
And over the frozen Alps, will go,
Then I will conquer Moscow,
And return to the Bonny bunch of Roses, oh

He took five hundred thousand men,
With kings likewise to bear his train
He was so well provided for
That he could sweep this world alone.


But when he came to Moscow,
He was overpower'd by the driven snow,
When Moscow, was a blazing,
So he lost his Bonny bunch of Roses, oh!

Oh, son, don't speak so venturesome,
For in England are the Hearts of Oak,
There is England, Ireland, Scotland,
Their unity was never broke.
Oh, son, think on thy father,
On the Isle of St. Helena, his body lies low
And you must soon follow him,
So beware of the Bonny bunch of Roses, oh!

Now do you believe me, dearest mother,
Now I lie on my dying bed,
If I had lived I would have been clever,
But now I droop my youthful head.
But whilst our bodies lie moulding,
And weeping willows o'er them grow,
The deeds of great Napoleon,
Shall sting the Bonny bunch of Roses, oh!