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Who, founding on the Plough and humble Loome His Countrys greatnee, ees, on every tide, Her fleets the umpire of the world aume, And pread her jutice as her glories wide— Oh wonder of the world, and fairet pride, BritanniasBrittania's [sic] Fleet! how long hall Pity mourn And tain thy honours? from his weeping Bride And tarving babes, how long inhuman torn Shall the bold Sailor mount thy decks with heart forlorn!

Forlorn with inking heart his tak he plies, His BridesBride's [sic] ditree his retlee fancy ees, And fixing on the land his earnet eyes, Cold is his breat and faint his manly knees. Ah! hither turn, ye ons of courtlie Eae, And let the Brave MansMan's [sic] wrongs, let Interet plead: Say, while his arme his CountrysCountry's [sic] fate decrees, Say, hall a FathersFather's [sic] anguih be his meed; His wrongs unnerve his oul, and blight each mighty deed?