In a very poor forlorn way,
The shot was rusted in the gun,
Their swords from scabbards would not twin,
Their count’nance fierce as a wild bear,
Out o’er their eyes hang down their hair,
Their very thighs red tanned quite;
But yet as nimble as they’d been white;
Their beards were turned black and brown,
The like was ne’er seen in that town,
Some of them did barefooted run,