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As o'er their conquering Urn he sighs,
Touch'd by their fame's proud fire he cries,
"Thus o'er our foes we'll ever rise,
And George and Britain save."

Oft Fancy views them on the deep,
And turning as their squadrons roll,
Where great Eliza's ashes sleep,
With triumph fills each Briton's soul.
As Drake and Raleigh catch the glance:
"Advance: he cries, rash fools advance!
"The grave of Spain shall ope for France,
"And George aid Briton save."

What prompts these restless foes of life
To dare our dreaded arms again?
What, but the hope that party strife
Has broke Britannia's shield in twain?
But know they not, when France is near,
The war of tongues is silent here,
That all my grasp Britannia's spear,
And George and Britain save.

Ne'er in the pinch of Britain's Fate,
Shall Statesmen's rival Feuds be known,
Or Faction strive, with thwarting hate,
To break the British Bulwark down.