During the hurry of this heat:
The rest behind the ramparts stood,
And so were free from wounds and blood.
Thus in a rage, before they tir’d,
Near two hundred royal were fir’d,
With sixteen cannons, ’gainst the fort,
As afterwards they did report:
Yet did no harm was worth a fig,
But a poor soldier lost his leg.
And on the morrow when day appear’d,