On THUROT's Expedition

Old Neptune from the surging main, Thus hail'd his lov'd, his fav'rite isle; The sportive sea-nymphs of his train, This lively chorus sung the while. Britons your courage now display, And conquest shall your toil repay.

My sons renown'd for deeds of arms, Now, now, assert your country's right; The haughty foe with fierce alarms, Once more provokes you to the fight.

Invidious France one effort more, Her last resource, by Thurot tries; Tho' weak, insults Hibernia's shore, Diffusing terror and surprize.

While I from tempests smoothe the seas, And hid impetuous storms subside; Go—the wild rage of war appears, Go check such bold, such daring pride.

With conquest crown'd again return, Each grateful bard your praise shall sing, Or rear the trophy o'er the urn, Of him who dy'd to save his King.

Again shall peace and plenty smile, To crown with joy the industrious swain, All Europe shall revere your Isle, And hail you masters of the main.