Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When Popish bishops dare to claim
Authority, in George's name ;
By Treason's hand set up, in spite
Of George's title, William's right;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When Popish priest a pension draws
From starv'd exchequer, for the cause
Commission'd, proselytes to make
In British realms, for Britain's sake
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When snug in power, sly recusants
Make laws for British Protestants;
And d-g William's Revolution,
As justices claim execution;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When soldiers, paid for our defence,
In wanton pride slay innocence;
Blood from the ground for vengeance reeks,
Till Heaven the inquisition makes;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When at Bute's feet poor Freedom lies,
Mark'd by the priest for sacrifice,
And doom'd a victim for the sins
Of half the outs, and all the ins;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When stewards pass a boot account,
And credit for the gross amount;
Then to replace exhausted store,
Mortgage the land to borrow more;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When scrutineers for private ends,
Against the vote declare their friends;
Or judge as you stand there alive,
That five is more than forty-five;
Look up, ye Britons! cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.
When George shall condescend to hear
The modest suit, the humble prayer;
A Prince, to purpled pride unknown!
No favourites disgrace the throne!
Look up, ye Britons! sigh no more,
For your redemption's at the door.
When time shall bring your wish about,
Or, seven-years lease, you sold, is out,
No future contract to fulfil,
Your tenants holding at your will;
Raise up your heads! your right demand!
For your redemption's in your hand.
Then is your time to strike the blow,
And let the slaves of Mammon know,
Briton's true sons a BRIBE can scorn,
And die as free as they were born.
VIRTUE again shall take her seat,
And your redemption stand complete.
ADDRESSED TO MISS C-AM, OF BRISTOL.
As Spring now approaches with all his gay train, And scatters his beauties around the green plain,
Come then, my dear charmer, all scruples remove, Accept of my passion, allow me to love.
Without the soft transports which love must inspire,
Without the sweet torment of fear and desire,
Our thoughts and ideas are never refined,
And nothing but winter can reign in the mind.
But love is the blossom, the spring of the soul, The frosts of our judgments may check, not control;
In spite of each hind'rance, the spring will return, And nature with transports refining will burn.
This passion celestial, by Heav'n was design'd, The only fix'd means of improving the mind, When it beams on the senses, they quickly display, How great and prolific, how pleasing the ray.
Then come, my dear charmer, since love is a flame,
Which polishes nature, and angels your frame,
Permit the soft passion to rise in your breast,-
I leave your good-nature to grant me the rest.
Shall the beautiful flow'rets all blossom around,
Shall Flora's gay mantle enamel the ground,
Shall the red blushing blossom be seen on the
Without the least pleasure or rapture for me?
And yet, if my charmer should frown when I sing,
Ah! what are the beauties, the glories of spring!
The flowers will be faded, all happiness fly,
And clouds veil the azure of every bright sky.
I have received both your favours-The Muse alone must tell my joy.
O'ERWHELM'D with pleasure at the joyful news,
I strung the chorded shell, and woke the Muse,
Begin, O Servant of the Sacred Nine!
And echo joy through ev'ry nervous line;
Bring down th' ethereal Choir to aid the Song;
Let boundless raptures smoothly glide along.
My Baker's well! Oh words of sweet delight!
Now! now! my Muse, soar up th' Olympic height.
What wondrous numbers can the Goddess find,
To paint th' extatic raptures of my mind?
I leave it to a Goddess more divine,
The beauteous Hoyland shall employ my line.
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