Ere half the gods had drank their fill
The sacred nectar sour'd.
"At Neptune's toast the bumper stood,
Britannia crown'd the cup;
A thousand Nereids from the flood
Attend to serve it up.
"'This nauseous juice,' the monarch cries,
'Thou darling child of fame,
Tho' it each earthly clime denies,
Shall never bathe thy name.