"Bonaparte's escape from Russia - A New Song" (Harding [b 25] 246)

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                  BONAPARTE’S ESCAPE FROM RUSSIA
                                          A New Song

When Bonaparte from Russia into Moscow went,
With his troops in full glee and their minds fully bent,
To take the Russian country O they were fully employ’d,
But Russia fought against them and soon they were destroyed.

                The warlike lads of Russia,
                   They fought all in one mind,
                Made Bonaparte to run,
                     And leave his troops behind.

When from Moscow city the Russians did retreat,
Neither Boney nor his men not any thing could get.
When from Moscow city the Russians they took flight,
They set the town on fire and burnt it down that night.
                     The warlike lads, &c.

Burnt all away before them, and every foot they set,
Left Boney near his army no shelter could they get.
Damn it, says bold Russia, I’ll have you in a crack,
I’ll make you remember this before you do get back.
                      The warlike lads, &c.

So in a little while O the Russians did attack,
Against Boney and his army, kill’d, took, and drove ‘em back,
But the action being so hot, from left, right, front and rear,
O damn it, says poor Boney, I’ll stay no longer here.
                      The warlike lads, &c.

So off went Bonaparte as hard as he could ride,
The poor Frenchmen they looked after him, saying ‘tis very hard,
You should bring us all up here, and leave us in such a state,
You ought to stop along with us and share the same fate.
                      The warlike lads, &c.

But away went Boney as hard as he could run,
O’er hedges and ditches, left horses, men, and guns,
His boxes and matches, ammunition, and [illegible] too,
He left them all behind him, what else could he do?
                        The warlike lads, &c.

There full 80,000 men from me they’ve killed [or?] ta’en.
Besides 10,000 horses fine and 2,000 pieces [illegible],
But yet I must to Paris, to France I must
For if I don’t I may be sure they’ll teach me [a new?] dance.
                        The warlike lads, &c.

Now to conclude this wonderous tale and finish my song,
Boney’s men in Russia swore they wish they’d hold of him.
The cruelest death they’d put him to that e’er [a?] man befel,
Stop, stop, says Boney I’m now clear of you all.
                The warlike lads, &c.

Angus, Printer