human
Without wit, without wisdom, half stupid, half drunk, And rolling along arm-in-arm with his Punk, Comes gallant Sir William, the warrior (by proxy) To harangue his soldiers (held up by his Doxy)!
gpt
My boys, I'm a-going to send you to Tryon, To Johnstown, where _you'll_ get as groggy as I am! By a Tory from there I have just been informed That there's nobody there, so the town shall be stormed! For if nobody's there and nobody near it, My army shall conquer that town, never fear it!
human
Brave soldiers, go fight that we all may get rich!
gpt
We'll fetch you a halter, you * * * * ! Get out! And go live in the woods upon nuts, Or we'll give you our bayonets plump in your guts! Do you think we are fighting to feed such a crew As Butler, Sir John, Mr. Singler and you?
human
Come on, my brave boys! Now! as bold as a lion! And march at my heels to the County called Tryon; My lads, there's no danger, for this you should know, That I'd let it alone if I thought it was so! So point all your noses towards the Dominion And we'll all live like lords is my honest opinion!
gpt
In cunning and canting, deceit and disguise, In breaking parole by inventing cheap lies, Sir John is a match for the worst of his species, But in this undertaking he'll soon go to pieces. He'll fall to the rear, for he'd rather go last, Crying, 'Forward, my boys! Let me see you all past! For his Majesty's service (so reads my commission) Requires I push forward the whole expedition!
human
I'm sorry I'm here, for I'm horribly scared, But how did I know that they'd all be prepared? The fate of our forray looks darker and darker, The state of our larder grows starker and starker, I fear that a round-shot or one of their carkers[33] May breech my new breeches like poor Peter Parker's![34] Oh, say, if my rear is uncovered, what then!--
gpt
Held! Schuyler is coming with ten thousand men!
human
I'm done! A cannon ball of thirty pound Has hit me where Sir Peter got his wound. I'm done! I'm all undone! So don't unbutt'n'm; But say adieu for me to Clairette Putnam!
gpt
Compose yourself, good sir--forget your fright; We promise you you are not slain outright. The wound you got is not so mortal deep But bleeding, cupping, patience, rest, and sleep, With blisters, clysters, physic, air and diet Will set you up again if you'll be quiet!
human
So thick, so fast the balls and bullets flew, Some hit me here, some there, some thro' and thro', Beneath my legs a score of hosses fell, Shot under me by twice as many shell; And though my soldiers falter and beseech, Forward I strode, defiant to the breech, And there, as History my valour teaches, I fell as Cæsar fell, and lost--my breeches! His face lay in his toga, in defeat, So let me hide my face within my seat, My requiem the rebel cannons roar, My duty done, my bottom very sore. Tell Willett he may keep his flour and pork, For I am going back to dear New York.