And tailors did address and dress us,
With “Stand at ease!” (up to your knees
In mud and mire) “Make ready! Fire!”
Singeing the curls of Moses Muggs, Esquire—
A Briton, hot for fight and fame,
Burning to give the foes of Bull
Their belly-full,
Limp'd forth—but no admission!—he was lame.
“Lame!” cried the Briton; “zounds! I say,
I came to fight, and not to run away!”