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 He at last got one before he dished; This in a museum should be put, His place then marked with soot, And grease it will mark the spot When all his confreres are forgot. I then did visit old Yankee hill, Where fever and ague did them kill; Indeed the cattle grazing round Seemed to know ’twas sacred ground, And now and then would toss Their heads, as if they smelt a ghost, And were not sure their hides were safe, Where Yankees lived or had a waif; I then walked over the river, To look what I could discover, A lot of rosin there two years or more To take its chance, the fate of war, Had by degrees grown beautifully less, One big lot bad, or did evanesce, Some waggoners one cold night, Had put some fire to make a light On this pile of rosin, and forgot To snuff his candle, so burnt the lot, But left the insurance to pay His night candle as bright as day. There was another lot the other side, Which was spirited away by the tide, Some said the soldiers’ wives did use it, If so who in the cold could refuse it;
 * Now it is easy to digest,
 * A village without a crest,