Four bottles of whisk they did not seize:
His stores all under ground were hid,
Cover’d with turff into the wood.
Being midnight ere they reach’d the spot,
Where Charles lay trembling and wet,
They drank the whisk and eat the cheese,
Then of the heather made a bleeze.
When day came in, beek’d by the sun,
They lay and slept till afternoon:
Then took their travels that very night,