(3)
With ſpeed they fly and tell their chief,
That France was ruin'd, paſt relief,
And Hawks triumphant rode;
Hawke! cry'd the Fair, Pray what is he,
Who dare uſurp his power at ſea,
And thus inſult a God?
The Wind reply'd in diſtant lands,
There reigns a King who Hawke commands,
He ſcorns all foreign force;
And when their floating caſtles roll,
From ſea to ſea, from pole to pole,
Great Hawke directs their courſe.
Or when his winged bullets fly,
To puniſh frawd and perfidy,
Or ſcourge a guilty land;
The gallant Hawke ſerenely great
Though death and horror round him wait,
Performs his dread command.
Neptune with wonder heard the ſtory,
Of Georg's Sway and Britain's Glory,
Which time ſhall ne'er ſubdue;
Boſcawen's deeds, and Saunder's fame,
Join'd with brave Wolfe's immortal name,
Then cry'd, Can this be true?
A King! He ſure muſt be a God!
Who has ſuch Heroes at his nod,
To govern earth and ſea;
I yield to Trident and my Crown,
A tribute due to ſuch renown,
Great George ſhall rule for me.
