Chapter 13

_GARDINER, desperately wounded and borne from the field by two soldiers._

GARDINER.

A musket-ball, death-wing'd, hath pierc'd my groin, And widely op'd the swift curr'nt of my veins. Bear me then, Soldiers, to that hollow space, A little hence, just in the hill's decline. A surgeon there may stop the gushing wound, And gain a short respite to life, that yet I may return, and fight one half hour more. Then, shall I die in peace, and to my GOD, Surrender up, the spirit, which He gave.