The scorn of Saxon senates to command,
The threats of Peel and Balfour to despise
To scatter terror o’er a suff’ring land,
And blend our history in a nation’s cries
Our lot requires; nor circumscribed we feel
By growing numbers, or by crimes confined,
We have to march through rapine to repeal,
And shut the mouths of protestant mankind.
Our names, our deeds, spelt by the daily Muse
The place of Fame and Elegy supply,