In battle’s wild commotion,
The proud and mighty Mars,
With hostile scythes, demands his tythes,
Of death in warlike scars;
But Peggy, peaceful goddess,
Has darts in her bright eye,
That knock men down in the market-town,
As right and left they fly;
As she sits in the Low Back’d Car, than battle more dangerous far,
For the doctor’s art, cannot cure the heart