Upon one foot he had one boot,
And th’ other in his hand, sir.
“Arise, arise!” Sir Erskine cries,
“The rebels—more’s the pity,
Without a boat are all afloat,
And ranged before the city.
“The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.