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, 10 Sept. 1745.

OUSE, ! and aert Your Country's Caue, Your true Religion, and your Righteous Laws: With Rage indignant, haten the jut Doom Of Gallic Micreants, and the Tools of Rome. , Monter, horrible to Sight! From Northern Caves emerges into Light, Behold her Banners wave in Scotia's Air! And ee a new leads the War! , 'tis Yours, with Voice, with Heart, and Hand, Of thee infectious Pets to purge the Land: Nurtur'd in Climes where Pow'r Depotic reigns, And hackles the free Mind in lavh Chains; Where in ecret vents her Groans, And Tyrants Rage on Arbitrary Thrones: Shall Thee, to brutal Servitude innur'd, In, Land of Freedom, be endur'd? The Britih Genius tartles at th' Alarm, And bids her Sons confederated, Arm; Arm, the mild, legal to defend, Of GEORGE, her firm, avow'd, experienc'd Friend. Thus, oon hall your aociating Bands, 'Gaint all invading Pow'rs ecure your Strands; And rah Diturbers wail their vanquih'd Schemes To Ruin urg'd, by wild and frantic Dreams. , 17 Jan 1745–6

O, glorious Youth, belov'd of, go, And pour jut Vengeance on the trait'rous Foe: If Millions, lifting Hands and Eyes to Heav'n, Avail, to Thee will Vict'ry oon be giv'n: A Nations Pray'rs await Thee to the Field, That Providence thy precious Life may hield. Blat, gracious God, th' Aain's Hell-bred Scheme, And O! be this Britannia's grateful Theme; WILLIAM return'd, with Health and Laurels bles'd, And curt totally depres'd; Cruh'd! unk! confounded! ne'er to rie again! And let exulting ay—Amen! , 17 May, 1746.

UR Pray'rs are heard, the Bleing ak'd, is giv'n, Our is again the Care of Heav'n: The Pow'r, upremely wie, upremely good, Has cruh'd the Sons of Violence and Blood; And, what endears the Grace to Britain's Land, The Office was con ign'd to WILLIAM's Hand. WILLIAM, a Name that warms each Briti h Brea t, And, like NASSAUs, hall CUMBERLANDs be blet: Blet be the Line from whence thee Heroes prung: In deathles Records be their Praies ung; And future Heroes, thence inpir'd, inclin'd To humble Tyrants, and to ave Mankind. , 26 July, 1746.

Ö BRITANNIA! Iö PÆNS ing! Let Acclamations round our Iland ring. He comes, the glorious Youth, with Laurels crown'd, Exulting Crowds his Victor-Carr urround: Ten Thouand Pray'rs were for his Weal prefer'd, Ten Thouand Pray'rs were with Acceptance heard. And now innum'rous Benedictions tell How WILLIAM conquer'd, and how fell. Ye fond  Abettors  of a Tyrant's  Claim, Now hide your concious Heads, and bluh for Shame: Growl that you're curs'd with hated Freedom till, And forc'd to Happines againt your Will; While grateful Britons loud their Joys attet, We feel, and therefore boat, how much we're blet: Boat the long Propect, that delights our Eyes, Of future Chiefs from BRUNSWICK's Race to rie; That hall, we trut, our ecure, As long as Sun, and Moon, and Time endure.