If you cannot feel the shot, you shall hear the firelock's ringing,
Jack, the Regular!"
Ha! he falls! An ambuscade? 'Twas impossible to strike him!
Are there Tories in the glade? Such a trick is very like him.
See! his comrade by him kneels, turning him in terror over,
Then takes nimbly to his heels. Have they really slain the rover?
It is worth some risk to know; so, with firelocks poised and ready,
Up the sloping hills they go, with a quick lookout and steady.
Dead! The random shot had struck, to the heart had pierced the Tory—
Vengeance seconded by luck! Lies there, cold and stiff and gory,