They made us all, for want of Winter Quarters,
Ready to hang ourselves in our own Garters.
At last the Dove came with the Olive branch,
And told for certain, that we should advance
Out of the Field; O then we leapt for joy,
And cried with one accord, Vive le Roy.
What did the Sutlers then? nay, what do ye think?
For very grief, they gave away their drink.
But it’s no matter, let them laugh that wins,
They were no loosers. (God forgive their sins.)