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BY THOMAS GEORGE PALMER.
4 8 1 1 3 1
Et tantas audetis tollere molles?
As on the sea-beat shore Britannia sat,
“ E'en not yon sail, that from the sky-mixť wave
35 The mod ery of war! while hot Disease, And Sloth distemper'd, swept off burning crowds, For action ardent, and amid the deep Inglorious sunk them in a watery grave. There now they lie beneath the rolling flood,
40 Far from their friends and country, unaveng'd, And back the drooping war-ship comes again, Dispirited, and thin : her sons asham'd Thus idly to review their native shore, With not one glory sparkling in their eye,
45 One triumph on their tongue. A passenger, The violated merchant comes along, That far-sought wealth, for which the noxious gale He drew and sweat beneath equator suns,
* Frederick, prince of Wales, then lately arrived.