BRITANNIA smiling, views her golding plains
From mitred bondage free and papal chains;
Her jocund Sons pass each unburthen'd day
Securely quiet, innocently gay:
Lords of themselves the happy Rusticks sing,
Each of his little tenement the King.
Twice did usurping Rome extend her hand,
To reinslave the new-deliver'd land;
Twice were her sable bands to battle warm'd,
With pardons, bulls, and texts, and murthers arm'd;
With PETER'S sword and MICHAEL'S lance were sent,
And whate'er stores supply'd the Church's armament.
Twice did the gallant Albion race repell
The Jesuit legions to the gates of hell;
Or whate'er Angel, friend to Britain, took
Or WILLIAM'S or ELIZA'S guardian look.