Her Laws despis'd, her Constitution wrench'd
From its due, nat'ral frame, her Rights retrench'd
Beyond a Coward's suff'rance, Conscience forc'd,
And healing Justice from the Crown divorc'd,
Each moment pregnant with vile acts of pow'r,
Her  BISHOPS sentenc'd to the Tow'r,
Her OXFORD (who yet loves the STUART name)
Branded with arbitrary marks of shame,
She wept — but wept not long; to arms she flew,
At Honour's call th' avenging sword She drew,
Turn'd all her terrors on the Tyrant's head,
And sent him in despair to beg his bread,
Whilst she (may ev'ry State in such distress
Dare with such zeal, and meet with such success)
Whilst She (may GOTHAM, should my abject mind
Chuse to enslave, rather than free mankind,
Pursue her steps, tear the proud Tyrant down,
Nor let me wear if I abuse the crown)
Whilst She (thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry land,
Written in gold let REVOLUTION stand)
Whilst She, secur'd in  and
Found what She sought, a Saviour in NASSAU.