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What is the main ! ye kings renown'd!

Whence Tartar GRAND or Mogul GREAT Britannia's centre, and your bound :

Trade gilt their titles, pour'd their state; Austrian ! where-e'er leviathan can roll,

While Afric's black, lascivious, slothful breed,
Is Britain's home! and Britain's mine,

To clasp their ruin, fly fom toil ;
Where-e'er the ripening Sun can shine,

That meanest product on their soil,
Parts are for emperors; for her, the whole. Their people sell: one half on t'other feed.
Why, Austrian ! wilt thou hover still

Of Nature's wealth and commerce rent,
On doubtful wing, and want the skill

Afric's a glaring monument :
To see thy welfare in the world's? Too late Mid citron forests and pomegranate groves
Another Churchill thou may'st find,

(Curst, in a Paradise !) she pines :
Another Churchill, no: so kind,

O’er generous glebe, o'er golden mines
And other Blenheims, big with other fate. Her beggar'd, famish'd, tradeless native roves :
IU thou remember'st, ill dost own,

Not so thine, China, hlooming-wide;
Who rescued an ungrateful throne ;

Thy numerous fleets might bridge the tide ;
Ill thou consider'st, that the kind are brave ;

Thy products would exhaust both Indias' mines :
III dost thou weigh, that in Time's womb

Shut be that gate of trade! Or woe
A day may sleep, a day of doom,

To Britain's ! Europe 'twill o'erflow.-
As great to ruin, as was that to save.

Ungrateful song ! fler growth 3 inspires thy lines.
How wouldst thou smile to hear my strain,

Britain ! To these, and such as these,
Whose boasted inspiration 's vain

The river broad and foaming seas
Yet what if my prediction should prove true ?

Which sever lands to mortals less renown'd,

Devoid of naval skill or might;
Know'st thou the fatal pair who shine
O'er Britain's trading empire thine

Those sever'd parts of earth unite :
As one rejected, what, if one subdue *

Trade's the full pulse, that sends their vigour

What navnl scene adorns the seat
Of awful Britain's high debate",

Could, O! could one engrossing hand

The varions streams of trade command,
Inspires her councils, and records her power,
The nations know, in glowing balls

That, like the Sun, would gazing nations awe;
On sinking thrones the tempest falls,

That awful power the world would brave, When her august assembled senates low'r.

Bold war, and empire proud, his slave;

Mankind his subjects; and his will, their law. languarge fit for thought so bold ! Would Britain have her anger told ;

Hast thou look'd round the spacions Earth? Ah! never let a meaner language sound,

From commerce, grandeur's humble birth :

To George from Noah, empires living, dad,
Than that which prostrates human souls,
Through Heaven's dark vault impetuous

Their pride, their shame, their rise, their


Time's whole plain chronicle is all
And Nature rocks, when angry Jove has frown'd.

One bright encomium, undesign'd, on trade.
Not realms unlounded, not a flood

Trade springs from peace, and wealth from
Of natives, not expense of blood,

trade, Or reach of counsel gives the world a lord :

And power from wealth of power is made
Trade calls him forth, and sets bim high, The god on Earth: Hail, then, the dove of peace!
As mortal man, o'er men can fly :

Whose olive speaks the raging flood
Trade leaves poor gleanings to the keenest sword. Of war repress’d: what's loss of blood
Nay, her's the sword! For fleets hare wings;

War is the death of commerce and increase.
Like lightning fly to distant kings;

Then perish warl-Detested war!
Like gods descend at once on trembling states :

Shalt thou make gods? light Cæsar's star?
Is war proclaim'd ? Our wars are hurl'd What calls man fool so loud as this has done,
To farthest confines of the world,

From Nimrod's down to Bourbon's line ?
Surprise your ports, and t"under at your gates. Why not adore too, as divine,
The king of tempests, Æolus,

Wide-wasting storms, before the genial Sun?
Sends forth his pinion'd people, thus,

Peace is the merchant's summer clear !
On rapid errands: as they fly, they roar,.

His harvest ! harvest round the year!
And carry sable clouds, and sweep

For peace with laurel every mast be bound;
The land, the desert, and the deep!

Each deck carouse, each flag stream out,
Earth shakes! pruud cities fall! and thiones adore! Each cannon sound, each sailor shout!
The fools of Nature ever strike

For peace let every sacred ship be crown'd!
On bare outsides ; and loathe, or like,

Sacred are ships, of birth divine !
As glitter bids; in endless errour vie ;

An angel drew the first design ;
Admire the purple and the crown :

With which the patriarchı Nature's ruins bravd:
Of human welfare and renown,

Two worlds abroad, an old and new, Trade's the big heart; bright empire, but their He safe o'er foaming billows flew : eye.

The gods made human race, a pilot, sav'l,

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3 Coffee.

? The Spanish Armada in the House of Lords. VOL. XIII,

V in




How sacred too the merchant's name !

Adore the gods, and plough the seas: When Britain blaz'd meridian fame 1 ;

These be thy arts, O Britain! these. Bright shone the sword, but brighter trade gave Let others pant for an immense command ; law;

Let others breathe war's fiery god; Mercbants in distant courts rever'd,

The proudest victor fears thy nod, Where prouder statesmen ne'er appear'd, Long as the trident fills thy glorious band. Merchants ambassadors ! and thrones in awe.

Glorious, while Heaven-born freedom laşts, 'T is theirs to know the tides, the times ;

Which trade's soft sparious daughter blasts; The march of stars; the births of climes;

For what is tyranny. A monstrous birth Summer and winter theirs; theirs land and sea; From luxury, by bribes caress'd, Theirs are the seasons, months, and years;

By glowing power in shades compressid, And each a different garland wears :

Which stalks around, and chains the groaning O that my song could add eternity!

Earth. Praise is the sacred oil that feeds

The burning lamp of god-like deeds ;
Immortal glory pays illustrious cares :
Whither, ye Britons ! are you bound ?

O noble voyage ! glorious round !
Lanch from the Thames, and end among the


FERABLE TO PINDAR'S SUBJECTS. If to my subject rose my soul,

Your fame should last while oceans roll; When other worlds in depths of time shall rise,

Tuer, Trade! I first, who boast po store, As we the Greeks of mighty name,

Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from 'shore, May they Britannia's fleet proclaim,

The shore of prose, where thou hast slumber'd Look up, and read her story in the skies.


And send thy flag triumphant down Ye Syrens, sing; ye Tritons, blow;

The tide of time, to sure renown; Ye Nereids, dance; ye billows, flow;

O bless my country! and thou pay'st my song: Roll to my measures, O ye starry throng; Ye winds, in concert breathe around;

Thou art the Briton's noblest theine, Ye navies, to the concert bound

Why, then, unsung? My simple aim From pole to pule! to Britain all belong.

To dress plain sense, and fire the generous blood;

Not sport imaginations rain,

But list, with yon ethereal train,

The shining Muse, to serve the public good.

Of antient art and antient praise,

The springs are open'd in my lays:

Olympic heroes' ghosts around me throng, THE MOST HAPPY SHOULD BE THE MOST VIRTUOUS.

And think their glory sung anew ; OF ETERNITY. WHAT BRITAIN'S ARTS SHOULD BE.

Till chiefs of equal fame they view; WHENCE SLAVERY.

Nor grudge to Britons bold their Theban song. BRITAIN! tbus blest, thy blessing know; Or bliss, in vain! the gods bestow;

Not Pindår's theme with mine compares, Its end fulfil, means cherish, source adore:

As far surpast, as useful cares Vaia swellings of thy soul repress ;

Transcend diversion light and glory vain: They most may lose, who most possess ;

The wreath fantastic, shouting throng, Then let bliss awe, and tremble at thy store.

And panting steed, to him belong

The charioleer's, not empire's golden rein.
Nor be too fond of life at best,
Her cheerful, not enamour'd guest :

Nor, Chandos! thou the Muse despise,
Let thought fly forward ; 't will gay prospects That would to glowing Ætna rise,

(Such Pindar's breast) thon Theron of our time! Prospects immortal; that deride

Seldom to man the gods impart A Tyrian wealth, a Pèrsian pride,

A Pindar's head, or Theron's heart;
Apd make it perfect fortitude to live,

In life, or song, now rare the true sublime !
O fur eternity! a scene!
To fair adventurers serene!

None, British-born, will sure disdain
O! on that sea to deal in pure renown!

This new, bold, moral, patriot strain, Traffic with gods! What transports roll ;

Though not with genius with some virtue crowu'd ;

(How vain the Muse!) the lay may last, What boundless import to the soul !

Thus twin'd around the British mast, The poor man's empire! and the subject's crown!

The British mast, with nobler laurels bound !

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4 In Queen Elizabeth's reign.

Weak ivy curls round naval oak,
And smiles at wind and storm anbroke ;

By strength not hers sublime: thus, proud to soar,
To Britain's grandeur cleaves my strain;

And lives, and echoes through the plain,
While o'er the billow Britain's thunders roar.

“ Ye Syrens, sing; ye Tritons, blow; Be dumb, ve grovelling sons of verse,

Ye Nereids, dance; ye billows, flow; Who sing not actions, but rehearse,

Roll to my measures, O ye starry throng ! And fool the viuse with impotent desire;

Ye winds, in concert breathe around; Ye sacrilegious! who presume

Ye natives, to the concert bound To tarnish i'ritain's naval bloom,

From pole to pole! to Britain all belong ; Sing Britain's faine, with all her hero's Britain to Heaven; from Heaven descends my dre.



Richard Taylor and Co. Printers, Shve-lane, London,


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