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treat over the bridge of Neerspeeken, the king himself could scarce have gain'd it—he was press'd hard, as your honour knows, on every side of him———
Gallant mortal! cried my uncle Toby, caught up with enthusiasm—this moment, now that all is lost, I see him galloping across me, corporal, to the left, to bring up the remains of the English horse along with him to support the right, and tear the laurel from Luxembourg's brows, if yet 'tis possible—I see him with the knot of his scarfe just shot off, infusing fresh spirits into poor Galway's regiment—riding along the line—then wheeling about, and charging Conti at the head of it———Brave! brave by heaven! cried my uncle Toby—he deservesa
