To roast and grind as best they could,
Issuing neither mill nor wood;
Our lines of soldiers marching rank entire,
Bearing shot and shell, too, at the Russians' fire.
Or the distant Cossack over the hills doth glow,
As winter wraps the Tchernaya Valley with snow,
And Prince Menschikoff in the Great Redan he stood,
Giving the Muscovites orders for to shed our blood.
And Sir Wm. Codrington on Cathcart's Hill,
Giving forth his orders to his gallant men,