In times like these, the Sailor of our play
Much more than common sailors has to say;
For Frenchmen now the British Tars provoke,
And doubly tough is every Heart of Oak;
Ready to die or conquer at command,
While all are soldiers who are left on land.
Each English soul's on fire to strike the blow
That curbs the French and lays a tyrant low.
Sweet wolf! how lamb-like! how, in his designs,
“The maiden modesty of Grimbald” shines!
Strifes he concludes 'twixt nations who agree;
Freedom bestows on States already free;
Forcing redress on each contented town,
The loving ruffian burns whole districts down;
Clasps the wide world, like Death, in his embrace;
Stalks Guardian Butcher of the human race;
And aping the fraternity of Cain,
Man is his brother only to be slain.

And must Religion's mantle be profaned,
To cloak the crimes with which an Atheist's stained?
Yes; the mock saint, in holy motley dressed,
Devotion's public ledger stands confessed;
Of every and no faith beneath the sun,—
“Open to all and influenced by none;”
Ready he waits, to be or not to be,
Rank unbeliever or staunch devotee

Now Christians' deaths in Christian zeal he works,
Now worships Mahomet to murder Turks;
Now tears the Creed and gives free-thinking scope,
Now dubbed “Thrice Catholic” he strips a Pope.
A mongrel Mussulman, of Papal growth,
Mufti or Monk, now neither, or now both;
At mosque, at church, by turns, as craft thinks good,
Each day in each, and every day in blood!

God! must this mushroom despot of the hour,
The spacious world encircle with his power?
Stretching his baneful feet from pole to pole,
Stride Corsican Colossus of the whole?
Forbid it, Heaven! and forbid it, man!
Can men forbid it? Yes; the English can.
'Tis theirs at length to fight the world's great cause,
Defend their own and rescue others' laws.

What Britons would not, were their hairs all lives,
Fight for their Charter, for their babes and wives;
And hurl a tyrant from his upstart throne,
To guard their king securely on his own?