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written by John Masefield
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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.

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