Not the Receſs of Arms can cool their Fire,
Quench't in the Act, they burn in the Deſire;
Not Capuan Plenty, not luxuriant Eaſe,
The Man of Action's firſt and worſt Diſeaſe,
Can Taint their Temper, quench their Thirſt of Fame,
Or Ruſt the polliſh'd ſplendor of their Name.
Their Arms may tarniſh, but the Soul's kept bright,
For, ſpight of Practice, they by Nature fight;
Born Soldiers, fitted from the Birth for Fame,
Bodies all Iron, and their Souls all Flame.
The War revives, Bellona ſounds to Arms,
The Scots by Nature raviſh't with her Charms,
From their remoteſt Mountains hear the ſound,
And Troops of Hero's ſpread Hibernian Ground;
With Native Fire and ſenſe of Glory fill'd,
And wing'd with Joy, they ruſh into the Field.
In ev'ry Action that deſerv'd a Name,
They ſhar'd the Hazard, others ſhar'd the Fame;
William with Pleaſure often led 'em on,
They gave, they guarded, and they lov'd his Crown;
Smiling he view'd the Wonders of their Hands.
Happy the Gen'ral Troops like theſe Commands,
The gladded Monarch ſaid,
when at Namure,
Ramſay fell on and mock'd the Gallick Power,
