Found in the book English Songs of the Georgian Period, published by Bayley & Ferguson, London
words by Thomas John Dibdin
music by John Whitaker
arranged by Alfred Moffat
The clever verses might have suggested to Thackeray his “Chronicle of the Drum”.
The sheet music:
Lyrics
- My grandsire beat a drum so neat
His name was Darby Kelly, O
No lad so true at rat-tat-too
At roll call or reveille O
When Marlbro’s fame first raised his name
My grandy beat the Point of War
At Blenheim he and Ramillie
Made ears to tingle near and far
For with his wrist he’d such a twist
The girls would leer, you don’t know how
They laughed and cried, and sighed and died
To hear him beat the row, dow, dow
With a row, dow dow, with a row, dow dow
To hear him beat the row, dow dow
They laughed and cried, and sighed and died
To hear him beat the row, dow, dow - A son he had, which was my dad
As tight a lad as any, O
You e’er would know, though you should go
From Chester to Kilkenny, O
When great Wolfe died, his country’s pride
To arms, my dapper father beat
Each dale and hill remembers still
How loud, how long, how strong, how neat!
With each drumstick he had the trick
The girls would leer, you don’t know how
Their eyes would glisten, their ears would listen
To hear him beat the row, dow, dow
With a row, dow dow, with a row, dow dow
To hear him beat the row, dow dow
They laughed and cried, and sighed and died
To hear him beat the row, dow, dow - Ere I did wed, ne’er be it said
But that the foe I dared to meet
With Wellington, old Erin’s son
I helped to make them both retreat
King Arthur once, or I’m a dunce
Was called the hero of the age
But what’s he been to him we’ve seen
The Arthur of the modern page?
For by the powers, from Lisbon’s bowers
He trophies bore to grace his brow
He made Nap prance right out of France
With his English, Irish, row, dow, dow
With a row, dow dow, with a row, dow dow
His English, Irish, row, dow dow
His row, dow, dow, his row, dow, dow
His English, Irish, row, dow dow
Sung here by Fred Feild: