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But hold, my Muse, may no Complaints appear,Nor blot the Day with an ungrateful Tear:While MARLBRO' lives Britannia's Stars dispense,A friendly Light, and shine in Innocence.Plunging thro' Seas of Blood his fiery SteedWhere e'er his Friends retire, or Foes succeed;Those he supports, these drives to sudden Flight,And turns the various Fortune of the Fight.
Forbear, Great Man, Renown'd in Arms, forbearTo brave the thickest Terrors of the War,Nor hazard thus, confus'd in Crouds of Foes,Britannia's Safety, and the World's Repose;Let Nations anxious for thy Life abateThis Scorn of Danger, and Contempt of Fate:Thou liv'st not for thy self; thy QUEEN demandsConquest and Peace from thy Victorious Hands;Kingdoms and Empires in thy Fortune join,And Europe's Destiny depends on Thine.
At length the long-disputed Pass they gain,By crouded Armies fortify'd in vain;The War breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield,And see their Camp with British Legions fill'd.So Belgian Mounds bear on their shatter'd SidesThe Sea's whole weight, encreas'd with swelling Tides;But if the rushing Wave a Passage finds,Enrag'd by watry Moons, and warring Winds,The trembling Peasant sees his Country roundCover'd with Tempests, and in Oceans drown'd.
The few surviving Foes, dispers'd in Flight,(Refuse of Swords, and Gleanings of a Fight)In every russling Wind the Victor hear,And MARLBRO's Form in ev'ry Shadow fear,'Till the dark Cope of Night with kind EmbraceBefriends the Rout, and covers their Disgrace.
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