Rondeau—in the Quizes

Oh the camp's delightful rigs, At which such crouds are peeping, Where chaises, dillies, cars, and gigs, Serve both to ride and sleep in, Oh the joys that there abound, Where, lur'd by the fine weather, Warriors of every rank are found, Who, higgledy piggledy, on the ground, Like gipsies pig together. The morning gun Begins the sun, Reveilles next the drum beats, The sprightly fife, So full of life, And then the silver trumpets. And these, with all their might, Announce a fine sham fight; Marches, retreats, attacks, and routs, Proclaim'd by guns, and shrieks, and shouts, The air with various clangors fill; While ranks of foot, and troops of horse, Resistless in their headlong course, Bear down, while sidling, shifting, trimming, Beaux, bells, jew pedlars, and old women; Who, left in topsy turvy plight, Exhibit, O ye gods! a sight That beggars Greenwich hill! Now either army stilly stands, The neighing horses cease to prance, The trumpet, that erst cried advance, Now sounds retreat; Drums cease to beat; Foes, turn'd to friends, eager shake hands; On neither side the winner: No longer arm'd for a sham fight, They tooth and nail unite, To exterminate—the dinner. Oh the camp's delightful rigs, &c. Oh for a muse of fire, to sing The conflict of the day! Upon a plain, in form a ring, The foe within entrenchments lay; A cover'd way Hid each division:—At the sight The heroes, eager for the fight, Arm, and the enemy invest. Each charge fresh vigour brings, They thin the ranks, Attacking flanks, And wings: Legs, heads, and carcases around, They in one shapeless heap confound, And, ris'n to such a savage beat, Not only kill, but all they kill they cat! And see, to urge their furious course, Light troops the foe now reignforce; On the instant, as they stand amazed, New works are raised, Like magic, to their wond'ring eyes, Bastions, redoubts, and ravlins rise. Again the signal's given; Again with headlong fury driven; Comfits, now discomfited. Lie in promiscuous ruin spread; Trifles, blanc mange, and jellies quake, While' as with rage they teem, Whole islands they devour of cake, And drink whole seas of cream. Again the general cries, charge all! The word's the king! Forward they spring, And drink in savage joy the blood Drawn from the grape, in purple stood, And strew with mangled heaps the plain, And fight the battle o'er again, And slay the slain! And now, the foe all kill'd or fled, While those that can walk off to bed: The solemn trumpet's slowly sounded, Leave's given to carry off the wounded, And bury all the dead. Oh the camp's delightful rigs, &c