Volume 99 — PUNCH TO THE SECOND BATTALION.

You're off, boys, to Bermuda (Like "the Bermoothes," "vexed"). The Guards rebel? Proh pudor! What next—and next—and next? Who'll guard the Guards, if they guard not The fame they should revere? Fie on the row, row, row, row, Of the British Grenadier! Your Punch is sorry for you, And for these lads "in quod;" But Discipline's a parent That must not spare the rod. May you right soon redeem your name, And no more may Punch hear Of the row, row, row, row, row, row, Of the British Grenadier! If you have been o'er-worried By ultra-Martinet; Into unwisdom hurried, Be sure Bull won't forget. But England's Redcoats must not ape The Hyde Park howl, that's clear; So no more row, row, row, row, From the British Grenadier!