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Their Adm'ral fav'd, but to become a Prize,
Shatter'd the Remnant, not with taking, ies:
Merci, incourag'd does his Troops command,
As Britons fought by Sea, to fight by Land:
By British Cannon and the German Sword,
Guarded, the Ifle rejects the Spanish Lord.

No more the noify Drums and Clarions found,
No more the Clangors of fhril Trumpets wound,
The gentle Ecchos of the peaceful Air,

Nor frights the Hinds the Brazen Threat of War:
Thofe Death-decoying Inftruments are mute,
In quiv'ring Notes contending Nymphs difpute,
Love dances on the String, and warbles thro' the Lute.
Now Rural Musick, from fome Oaten Reed,

Heals wounded Minds, when Love-fick Shepherds bleed:
Now how her Face-recov'ring Nature 'fhews,
How with kind Suns the yellowing Harveft glows;
How shoot the Woods a-new, how fpring the Plains,
Apollo's Fav'rites, the Sicilian Swains,

Tell in fweet Numbers; but in loftier Verfe,

The Mighty Deeds of Mighty Byng vehearse.

Each rivals next the Mantuan Bard, and fings
GEORGE, who at pleasure makes, or unmakes Kings.

At Magick Numbers all-commanding Sound, Furies and Ghofts are faid to quit their Ground;

Envy, this joyful Mufick loath to bear,
Refumes her vap'rous Form, and Scales the Air;
To feek fresh Refidence, fhe mounts on high,
Then Northward bends her Journey thro' the Sky,
Till reaching barb'rous Ruffia's Gloomy Land,
She found an Empire fit for her Command.
Here firft fhe fix'd her baleful Seat, and here
Hatch'd the dire Projects of a bloody Year.
Strait fome dead Ruffian Monarch's Form fhe took,
And This, in Dreams of Glory loft, befpoke.

"Haft heard, O CZAR, how round the Southern Shoar,

r British AUGUSTUS made his Thunder roar? "Round his remotest Foes his Lightnings hurl'd, "And tam'd the noify'ft Quarters of the World? "How, far as Pines with Canvas Wings can fly, "His Fame runs ecchoing thro' the vaulted Sky? "While Kings his Praise with inward Rancour hear, "But outwardly applaud, because they fear: "Wilt Thou thy Share of Martial Pomp refign "To him, whose Kingdom is a Span to Thine? Up, up, for Honour's fake, and once again. "Let Foreign Panicks fhew a Ruffian Reign: "If He's a CESAR, you're a CESAR too, "Nor lefs the Glory, than the Name's your Due: "Since your Imperial Titles are the fame, "O fhine his Equal in the Rolls of Fame!

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"Let thy Dread Fleet its Watry Empire feize, "His be the Southern, Thine the Northern Seas; "Let boafted Britons make tame Spaniards bleed, "While braver Ruffians Quell the hardy Swede. "So the Chief Praise to Thee shall GEORGE refign, “And own his Triumphs cheaply bought to thine. "Each future Pilot shall thy Fame declare, "And name their Northern Guide, the Ruffian Star.

This faid, away the Regal Phantom flew, Scatt'ring those airy Cloathings from his View: Envy, unfeen her felf, befieg'd his Breaft,

His flutt'ring Heart his anxious Soul poffeft,

Rid, like a Hag, his Dreams, and broke his balmy Reft.

These boding Dreams the CZ AR confirm'd, awake; And fight he would, tho' but for fighting-fake: Carefs, if neither Country reap'd the Good, His Pride he plac'd in shedding Human Blood; To gain Inglorious Conquests was his Aim;

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He fought not Conqueft's End, but Conqueft's Name.
Strait grown a Victor in his cruel Thought,
Stockholm he fack'd, and future Battles fought:
Too foon he tries, what he refolves too foon,
And all the Tempeft of the War's begun;

Gath'ring his Fleet, he wide Destruction breathes,
And in each Veffel ftores Ten Thoufand Deaths:

By

By Magazines of ill-invented Fire,

Whole Provinces he deftines to Expire;

Then calls his Chief.

one barb'rous Order gives,

Too fure to coft whole Hecatombs of Lives;
Of various Deaths prefcribes each dreadful Form,
And like fome wrathful Angel guides the Storm.
Him fwift,, the Chief, the Fleet their Chief obey,
And num'rous Tranfports hide the Neighb'ring Sea;
Not long-for lo! the floating Realm invades
A diftant Realm, whose brave out-number'd Swedes
Are driv'n, a Hoft. of Heroes, to the Shades;
To Devastation next their Arms they turn,
Villas, and Villages, and Cities burn;

Their Ramparts flame, and no affifting Flood,
To quench that Flame, is near, but Chriftian Blood:
Young Virgins fall, unaided by their Charms,
In vain her Babe, the fhrieking Mother's Arms,
Clafp to the Place, that fondles Babes to Reft,
Parent and Child one endless Sleep poffeft,
And Daggers pin it to the ftreaming Breast,
With harmless Fields and Woods they next engage,
Even they're made Fuel to unbounded Rage;
Life-giving Corn, for Miles, in Flames expires,
Crackling with Anger at their, Impious Fires:
Oaks that had flourish'd for an Hundred Years,
Flaming aloft, below their fappy Tears,

:

On their old Mother Earth's fcorch'd Bofome, pour,
And mourn an Age's Lofs in one short Hour:

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From Tree to Tree, confuming Leagues of Wood,
Defraud of future Fleets the Watry GoD:
He felt the Scorchings of the Neighb'ring Flame,
Wish'd that he nearer had fome Daughter-Stream
To over-flow its Banks, and Russian Fury tame.
In vain —a Week the blazing Terrors play:
That Week's one long uninterrupted Day,
No Night, till all around in afhy Ruins lay,

And is it thus, O Ruffian, thou wouldst Vie
With GEORGE, that like the Thund'rer of the Sky,
Could, were his Bolts, like thine, at random hurl'd,
As you one Kingdom ravag'd, crush the World?
But Juftice o'er his well-plac'd Anger rules,
He flames by Reafon, and by Reafon cools;
As you are falfely, He is truly Brave,

Not fights to Ruin, but fubdues to Save:

Too foon you'll find, when he protects the Swedes,
Just Rage provok'd, repay your Lawless Deeds;
Be wife, your Fleets in safest Harbours keep,
Left the Burnt-Sacrifice atones the Deep;
As well with Sol may Phaeton compare,
Or mad Oreftes with the God of War;

As Thou with GEORGE, like SOL's, his Glories frike,

On all Mankind, and fhine on all alike.

O! was thy Pow'r like his, one fatal Day

Would the whole mould'ring World in Afhes lay;

Thy

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