On the last War with SPAIN

When Celtiberia's tawny brood, Of an augmented navy vain, Dare injure Britain, on Briton's birth-right flood, Shall tamely we the wrong sustain?

Rise ye heroes, ye sea-bred heroes rise, Nor let such foes your power despise.

Our hardy sires in battles fierce, Ne'er unreveng'd lets insults go; Then whilst our fathers we rehearse, Let ev'ry breast with vengeance glow, Rise, ye heroes, &c.

'Tis Heav'n incens'd at Spain that stings, To rage unjust, each giddy brain; Their crimes to punishment he brings, And we must scourge them on the main. Rise, ye heroes, &c.

To their dominions utmost end, Let us this haughty foe pursue; And our wide wasting thunders send, Quite from Gallicia to Peru. Rise ye warriors, ye stubborn hearts of steel, And let your foes your fury feel.

The wachful dragon shall in vain, Their fruit of gold Hesperian guard, By your Herculean valour slain, His charge your toils shall will reward. Rise ye warriors, &c.

Their treasures shall our triumphs grace, Their waining navy ours increase; Till they, like Gallia's crafty race, Shall trembling sue in vain for peace. Rise ye warriors, &c.