Messenger. From Lexington plains.
Lord Boston. 'Tis impossible!
Messenger. Too true, sir.
Lord Boston. Say—what is it? Speak what you know.
Messenger. Colonel Smith is defeated and fast retreating.
Lord Boston. Good God! what does he say? Mercy on me!
Messenger. They're flying before the enemy.
Lord Boston. Britons turn their backs before the Rebels! the Rebels put Britons to flight! Said you not so?
Messenger. They are routed, sir; they are flying this instant; the provincials are numerous, and hourly gaining strength; they have nearly surrounded our troops. A re-enforcement, sir, a timely succor, may save the shattered remnant. Speedily! speedily, sir! or they're irretrievably lost.
"The Fall of British Tyranny, or American Liberty triumphant." *