How all the Salamanca Bells did ring;
How Peasants unconcerned, th’ ensuing Day,
Plough’d thro’ the honour’d soil where Heroes lay.
But no—content I’ll to my story keep,
And so return to John I left asleep;
Who, wrapt in slumber, care forgetting, lies,
The Long roll Beat—he started, rubb’d his eyes.
‘Why, what’s the matter?—surely it is dark.’
‘Aye,’ says his friend, ‘we rise before the Lark.
‘Our Orders are to fall in every Morn,