An ANTIGALLICAN SONG

Ye sons of freedom! hail, the day When first our order rose; To chase corruption's cloud away, And venal arts oppose: Grant Heav'n, that o'er the nation Our principles may spring! The surest preservation Of country and of King,

Let France our lion's rage provoke; What Antigaul's afraid? Lo Foster gives the noble stroke, To crush her India trade: He comes, the Fates restore him; Propitious breathe, ye gales! Fame leads the way before him, And glory fills the sails.

Great George, for whom our bosoms glow, Send all thy statesmen here; Thy ministers more wise shall grow; All courtiers more sincere. True honour shall inspire them, The Gallic race to brand, And patriot love shall fire them, To save this martial land.

Tho' Spain shou'd Gallia's pride assist, No honest heart will fail; Our thunder shall their force resist; The British cross prevail. Tho' some our wrongs wou'd smother, Yet we'll those wrongs resent. Here's a health to every brother, And to our president.