Our King thus trembles at ,
Whilst , who ne'er afraid is,
To  marches on secure,
To bomb the Monks, and scare the Ladies.
After this glorious Expedition,
One Battle makes the Marshal Great:
He must perform the King's Commission:
Who knows, but  may retreat?
Kings are allow'd to feign the Gout,
Or be prevail'd with not to Fight:
And mighty  hop'd, no doubt,
That  wou'd preserve that Right.