Of gath'ring Crowds the Briton's boasted Chief.
Thus They, in sportive mood, their empty Taunts
And Menaces exprest; nor could their Prince
In Arms, vain Tallard, from opprobrious Speech
Refrain; Why halt ye thus, ye Britons? why
Decline the War? shall a Morass forbid
Your easie March? Advance; we'll bridge a Way,
Safe of Access. Imprudent, thus t'invite
A furious Lion to his Folds! that Boast
He ill abides, captiv'd in other Plight
He soon revisits Britanny, that once
Resplendent came, with strech't Retinue girt,
And pompous Pageantry; O Hapless Fate,
If any Arm, but CHURCHILL's, had prevail'd!
No need such Boasts, or Exprobations false
Of Cowardice; the military[errata 1] Mound
The British Files transcend, in evil Hour
For their proud Foes, that fondly brav'd their Fate.
And now on either Side the Trumpet blew,
Signal of Onset, Resolution firm
Inspiring, and pernicious Love of War.
The adverse Fronts in rueful Conflict meet,
Errata
