Shall BRITONS, by their own JOINT WISDOM rul'd
Beneath one ROYAL HEAD, whose vital Power
Connects, enlivens and exerts the WHOLE;
In FINER ARTS, and PUBLIC WORKS, shall
To  yield? — yield to a Land that bends,
Deprest, and broke, beneath the Will of
Of  — who, should th' unkingly Thirst of Gold,
Or tyrant Passions, or Ambition, prompt,
Calls  o'er the blasted Land:
Drains from it's thirsty Bounds the Springs of Wealth,
His own insatiate Reservoir to fill:
To the lone Desart  frowns,
Or into Dungeons  when They, their Chains,
Indignant, bursting, for their
All other  scorn but TRUTH's and MINE.
Oh shame to think! shall BRITONS, in the Field
Unconquer'd still, the  lose?
Even in   Reign, who vainly dreamt,
By giddy Power, betray'd, and flatter'd Pride,
To grasp ; while, swarming round,
His Armies dar'd all  to the Field;
To hostile Hands while Treasure flow'd profuse,
And, that great Source of Treasure, Subjects 'Blood,
Inhuman squander'd, sicken'd every Land;
From BRITAIN, chief, while MY
In Vengeance rushing, dash'd his idle Hopes,
And bad his agonizing Heart be low:
Even  as in the golden Calm of Peace,
What PUBLIC WORKS, at home, what ARTS arose!
What various SCIENCE shone! what GENIUS glow'd!