“Them Scots can live on snuffing wind,
“For me, my belly clings to my back,
“Since I have join’d this hellish pack.
“If in this state all soldiers be,
“The dev’l be soldi’r again for me.”
—— To such hard frets thus driven were
Poor hungry Toms, of Lancashire:
For in all haste they marched up,
At Manchester they made a stop;
Here his faithful Clans perceiv’d and saw,