Their looks a venomous ire, ready to pierce our feeble hearts,
Their cloven feet of enmity, their taily stings so long,
Their poisonous hearts of calomel, daily forming vicious songs."—P. 12.
The other describes his own narrow escape, and the death of an artilleryman:
"A ball from their infantry went through my jacket,
Took the skin off my side, and made me racket.
My sword-belt turned it, otherwise through it must have gone.
The stroke was very severe, compare it to a sharp gore.
Captain Fitzroy said, 'Harding is severely wounded;
A ball has gone through his side: here it comes, rounded!'