Too plain a proof no happiness is here.
Must we, content, slavery's curse endure,
Nor bravely wish, nor once attempt a cure?
Will rebel-murderers from blood refrain?
Will corrupt statesmen liberty maintain?
Will Britain clear her long-contracted scores
On armies, fleets, for Hanover and whores?
Will justice flourish, will our trade increase,
Our fame grow greater, or our taxes less?
Bid things impossible in our natures rise!