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 Their trong Detachments end to every Creek,

In jut Proportion their own Michiefs eek.

Seek out the Harbours, eek the Indented Shore,

Timploy the Diligent, and feed the Poor.

No other Port they viit.

Ah! Caledonia, mark the High Command,

And mark the Caution of the Heavenly Hand;

If thou reject the Bounties of the Sea,

No more Complain of Poverty.

Hadt thou in early time with Widom grac't

Heav'ns Bounty, as in Duty bound, embrac't,

Above the Nations thou hadt rai'd thy Head,

At Home their Envy, and abroad their Dread,

Thy Wealthy Clime would all the World invite,

They'd Court Thee to Unite.

No more of Barren Hills and Seas complain,

Reproach the Land with Blats, with Storms the Main.

Not all the Spicy Banks of Ganges Stream,

Not Fruitful Nile o oft the Poets Dream,