THE THREE TROOPERS. INTO the Devil tavern Three booted troopers strode, From spur to feather spotted and splashed In each of their cups they droped a crust, A blue smoke rose from their pistol locks, There were long red smears on their jerkins of buff, As the table they overset. Then into their cups they stirred the crusts, And cursed old London town; Then waved their swords, and drank with a stamp, "God send this Crum-well-down!" The 'prentice dropped his can of beer, The gambler dropped his dog's-ear'd cards, As the light of the fire, like stains of blood, And leapt on the table, and roared a toast, Till on a sudden fire-bells rang, And the troopers sprang to horse; The eldest muttered between his teeth, Hot curses-deep and coarse. In their stirrup cups they flung the crusts, And cried as they spurred through town, With their keen swords drawn and their pistols cocked, "God send this Crum-well-down!" Away they dashed through Temple Bar, Their red cloaks flowing free, Their scabbards clashed, each back-piece shone- The silver cups that held the crusts |