O nurse of freedom, Albion, say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons arround,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found?
What page, in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd
Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through the deep unhallow'd shade
Of kingly fraud and sacerdotal night?