Then lit’-tle Bo-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!

Chorus.—Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
      Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.

When jus’-ti-ces’ hold e’qual scales’,
And rogues’ are on’-ly found’ in jails’;
Then lit’tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!

Chorus.—Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
     Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.

When rich’ men find’ their wealth’ a curse’,
And fill’ there-with’ the poor’ man’s purse’;
Then lit’-tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!

Chorus.—Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
     Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.

Poor Stanner! In spite of his satire, he fell at the bloody battle of Albuera a few years after this pleasantly spent summer at the Georgian watering-place, being mortally wounded and trampled down by a French hussar when the brigade was deploying into line under Beresford.

While Miller Loveday was saying ‘Well done, Mr. Stanner!’ at the close of the thirteenth stanza, which seemed to be the last, and Mr. Stanner was modestly expressing his regret that he could do no better, a stentorian voice was heard outside the window shutter repeating,

Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.

The company was silent in a moment at this reinforcement, and only the military tried not to look surprised.  While all wondered who the singer could be somebody entered the porch; the door opened, and in came a young man, about the size and weight of the Farnese Hercules, in the uniform of the yeomanry cavalry.

‘’Tis young Squire Derriman, old Mr. Derriman’s nephew,’ murmured voices in the background.

Without waiting to address anybody, or apparently seeing who were gathered there, the colossal man waved his cap above his head and went on in tones that shook the window-panes:—

When hus’-bands with’ their wives’ agree’.
And maids’ won’t wed’ from mod’-es-ty’,
Then lit’-tle Bo’-ney he’ll pounce down’,
And march’ his men’ on Lon’-don town’!

Chorus.—Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lo’-rum,
      Rol’-li-cum ro’-rum, tol’-lol-lay.

It was a verse which had been omitted by the gallant Stanner, out of respect to the ladies.

The new-comer was red-haired and of florid complexion, and seemed full of a conviction that his whim of entering must be their pleasure, which for the moment it was.

‘No ceremony, good men all,’ he said; ‘I was passing by, and my ear was caught by the singing.  I like singing; ’tis warming and cheering, and shall not be put down.  I should like to hear anybody say otherwise.’

‘Welcome, Master Derriman,’ said the miller, filling a glass and handing it to the yeoman.  ‘Come all the way from quarters, then?  I hardly knowed ye in your soldier’s clothes.  You’d look more natural with a spud in your hand, sir.  I shouldn’t ha’ known ye at all if I hadn’t heard that you were called out.’

‘More natural with a spud!—have a care, miller,’ said the young giant, the fire of his complexion increasing to scarlet.  ‘I don’t mean anger, but—but—a soldier’s honour, you know!’

The military in the background laughed a little, and the yeoman then for the first time discovered that there were more regulars present than one.  He looked momentarily disconcerted, but expanded again to full assurance.