‘O Damn those Commissaries! what a disaster,
‘They’ve brought us down, you see, to Lath & Plaster.
‘But, “Vive la guerre,” ’tis useless to repine.’
So on they March, and in the pursuit join.
Now rapidly they on the vanquish’d prest,
Snatching at intervals a hasty rest.
Day after Day, and frequently all Night,
They speed to check the Frenchmen in their flight:
When luckily for John, an order came
To Halt—for John was wearied, & poor Dobbin lame.