And now there is the Enemy's left wing, Romer and his Horse; their right wing wider away, and not yet, by a good space, within cannon-range of us.

It is towards Two of the afternoon; Schulenburg now on his ground, laments that he will not reach to Hermsdorf;--but it may be dangerous now to attempt repairing that error?
At Two of the clock, being now fairly within distance, we salute Romer and the Austrian left, with all our sixty cannon; and the sound of drums and clarinets is drowned in universal artillery thunder.
Incessant, for they take (by order) to "swift-shooting," which is almost of the swiftness of musketry in our Prussian practice; and from sixty cannon, going at that rate, we may fancy some effect.

The Austrian Horse of the left wing do not like it; all the less as the Austrians, rather short of artillery, have nothing yet to reply with.
No Cavalry can stand long there, getting shivered in that way; in such a noise, were there nothing more.

"Are we to stand here like milestones, then, and be all shot without a stroke struck ?" "Steady!" answers Romer.
But nothing can keep them steady: "To be shot like dogs (WIE HUNDE)! For God's sake (URN GOTTES WILLEN), lead us forward, then, to have a stroke at them!"-- in tones ever more plangent, plaintively indignant; growing ungovernable.

And Romer can get no orders; Neipperg is on the extreme right, many things still to settle there; and here is the cannon-thunder going, and soon their very musketry will open.