My Heart Leaps At The Trumpet's Voice.

A Brother's Sufferings Claim A Brother's Pity.

There Is Nothing More Requisite In Business Than Despatch.

Who Rant By Note, And Through The Gamut Rage; In Songs And Airs Express Their Martial Fire; Combat In Trills, And In A Fugue Expire.

Guard Thy Heart On This Weak Side, Where Most Our Nature Fails.

What Pity Is It That We Can Die, But Once To Serve Our Country.