_Col_. Ay, Sir _Harry_, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils;
and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy _French-men,_ near Twenty Thousand we
left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em
home to sing _Te Deum_.

_Knap_. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the
_English_ shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the _Dutch_
Snigger-snee 'em; the _Scotch_ Cook them; and the wild _Irish_ eat 'em.

_Col_. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the
Emulation of a brave Confederacy.--To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous
Attack, the Enemy gives ground,--To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure
Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with
glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.

_Knap_. To hang up in _Westminster-Hall_, and make the Lawyers stare off
their Briefs;--But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,--to hug my self with
two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of
Mind in lying sick at _Amsterdam_.

_Col_. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid
to look Death i'the Face.

_Knap_. Why, really, Sir, 'tisn't manners to march before the _Colonel_;
and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good
Conduct. Besides, that Mr._ Death_ is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean,
and wither'd like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o' Physick, I had as live
see the Devil.