Was likewise found among the slain.
Near six hundred, rank and file, lay there,
Two hundred and forty wounded were.
His sole reflection was, in the chase,
The Pretender’s rout he could not trace,
Any farther than that afternoon,
He drank with Lovat when all was done,
When his very tears mingl’d with wine;
But never could be catch’d sinsyne.
As some ran east, and some ran west,