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The Count form'd his troops in the morn,3 sir.
Van, centre, and rear
March'd up without fear, Cock sure of success, by a storm, sir.
Though rude was the shock,
Unmov'd as a rock, Stood our firm British bands to their works, sir.
While the brave German corps,
And Americans bore Their parts as intrepid as Turks, sir.
Then muskets did rattle,
Fierce raged the battle, Grape shot, it flew thicker than hail, sir.
The ditch fill'd with slain,
Blood dyed all the plain, When rebels and French turned tail, sir.
See ! see ! how they run!
Lord ! what glorious fun ! How they tumble, by cannon mow'd down, sir !
Brains fly all around,
Dying screeches resound, And mangled limbs cover the ground, sir.