Where they told me I was bolder far than many a comrade older,
Though a stripling at that fight for the right.
All that sultry day in summer beat his sullen march the drummer,
Where the Briton strode the dusty road until the sun went down;
Then on Monmouth plain encamping, tired and footsore with the tramping,
Lay all wearily and drearily the forces of the crown,
With their resting horses neighing, and their evening bugles playing,
And their sentries pacing slow to and fro.
Ere the day to night had shifted, camp was broken, knapsacks lifted,
And in motion was the vanguard of our swift-retreating foes;