Where to now?

He march'd, he march'd, to the crowned throne, and to the crowned head.
He bowed, and spoke, and this is what he said.
"Oh, where to, my king, to fight for your favor?"
And the king smiled gently, and he was pleased.
"Fight the enemy that lies at home, and i'll be appeased."
And the man bowed his head, and spoke again.
"I'll fight these rebels into their dens!"

A clash of metal, Men themselves steeling,
A sword sending a dead rebel reeling,
A battle bloody, but decisive and true.
The man had won, No more rebellions the land knew.
He mounted his horse, and drums were struck.
And his men marched through the grisly muck.

He march'd, he march'd, to the crowned throne, and to the crowned head.
He bowed, and spoke, and this is what he said.
"Milord, milord, i've slain them all, and their widows are accounted.
Now where to, where to, i seek to find battle mounted!"
And the king smiled gently, and he was gay.
"Fight the enemy abroad, that's where you'll earn your pay!"
And the man bowed his head, and spoke once more.
"I'll put these devils to the sword!"

But the next battle, he'd not live to finish.
An arrow flew, and against its wish,
Into his eye, the arrow plunged,
His song ended, his time done.