May have them Neptune’s arm abet,
Now England’s slave and boast;
Who from her lofty poops shall view
Your troops resistless pouring through
In torrents on her coast.
Suffice it now, as tribute paid,
Her great Chief’s death; the Thames to shade,
Doubling with grief her gloom:
That cover’d thus with honour’d scars,
She sees you wait, in happier wars,