By  counsels Dunkirk now restor'd
To Britain's empire, owns her ancient lord.
In him transfus'd his godlike father reigns,
Rich in the blood which swell'd that patriot's veins,
Who boldly faithful met his sov'reign's frown,
And scorn'd for gold to yield th' important town.
His son was born the ravish'd prey to claim,
And France still trembles at an Harley's name.
A fort so dreadful to our English shore,
Our fleets scarce fear'd the sands or tempests more,
Whose vast expences to such sums amount,
That the tax'd Gaul scarce furnish'd out th' account:
Whose walls such bulwarks, such vast tow'rs restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main;
His boast great  yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, , with the mighty prize.
Holland repining and in grief cast down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown:
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes more dreadful than the Gauls invite,
Soon may they hold the olive, soon asswage
Their secret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command
Thy realm the sea o'er their precarious land.