F

ILL high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare:

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:

Close by the regal chair

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl'

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years

of havoc urge

their destined course,

And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,

And spare the meek usurper's holy head.
Above, below, the Rose of snow,

Twined with her blushing foe we spread:

The bristled Boar in infant gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom,

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.