ALBION, by the nymph attended,
Was to Neptune recommended,
Peace and plenty fpread the fails;
Venus, in her fshell before him,
From the fands in fafety bore him,
And fupply'd Etefian gales.
Archon on the fhore commanding,
Lowly met him at his landing,
Crouds of people swarm'd around;
Welcome, rang like peals of thunder,
Welcome, rent the skies afunder,
Welcome, heaven and earth refound.
INFERNAL offspring of the Night,
Debarr'd of heaven your native right,
And from the glorious fields of light,
Condemn'd in fhades to drag the chain,
And fill with groans the gloomy plain;
Since pleasures here are none below,
Be ill our good, our joy be woe:
Our work t' embroil the worlds above,
Disturb their union, difunite their love,
And blast the beauteous frame of our victorious
SEE the god of feas attends thee,
Nymphs divine, a beauteous train;
All the calmer gales befriend thee
In thy paffage o'er the main :
Every maid her locks is binding,
Every Triton's horn is winding,
Welcome to the watry plain.
ALBION, lov'd of gods and men,
Prince of Peace too mildly reigning,
Cease thy forrow and complaining,
Thou shalt be reftor'd again :
Albion, lov'd of gods and men.
Still thou art the care of heaven,
In thy youth to exile driven :
Heaven thy ruin then prevented,
Till the guilty land repented :
In thy age, when none could aid thee,
Foes confpir'd, and friends betray'd thee.
To the brink of danger driven,
Still thou art the care of heaven.
Where a battle is fuppofed to be given behind the scenes, with drums, trumpets, and military fhouts and excurfions; after which, the Britons, expreffing their joy for the victory, fing this fong of triumph.
COME, if you dare, our trumpets found ;
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
We come, we come, we come, we come,
Says the double, double, double beat of the
thundering drum.
Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again:
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in the found:
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;
Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.
Now the victory's won,
To the plunder we run:
We return to our laffes like fortunate traders, Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish'd invaders.
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