TO God alone let us all Glory give,
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TO God alone let us all Glory give,
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By whose permission we poor Mortals live,
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And tho' our Enemies may swell with Pride,
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He soon can compass them on ev'ry side.
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King William is the Glorious Instrument,
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Which by the Providence of God was sent,
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To save our drooping Laws and Liberty,
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From French and Popish cruel Tyranny.
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When in dark gloomy Cells the Plots was laid,
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This Free-born Land and Nation to Invade,
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Bold Brittain Sail'd forth with her Royal Fleet,
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Which did the daring Enemy defeat.
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Renowned RUSSEL, let them understand,
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That for the Honour of his Native Land,
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Thro' Smoke and Flame, he cou'd with Courage go,
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To face proud Lewis that insulting Foe.
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No Fear or Favour cou'd his Actions sway,
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Nor cou'd he in the least be drawn away
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From acting like a Noble Hero bold,
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For all the promis'd Gifts of cursed Gold.
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Nay, Valiant Ashby, let them feel his Rage,
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While Death, he rid in Triumph o'er the Stage
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Of the French Navy on the Ocean Main,
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And English Boys did Victory obtain.
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The Spirits of the French began to faint,
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So that they pray'd to ev'ry Popish Saint,
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To help them in a time of sad Distress;
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Yet they were burnt and beaten ne'ertheless.
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Admiral Carter Fought them through and through,
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The like of him before they never knew;
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His Chain-Shot did their Ships in pieces tear,
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As if great Jove with Thunder had been there.
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Brave Delavall met with the Rising-Sun
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Of France, who to the shore for shelter run,
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With many more, which in a stately Flame
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He soon did set, our Glory to proclaim.
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Sir Clously Shovel, with a Valiant heart,
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In this most Glorious Conquest bore a part;
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His roaring Cannons sunk them in the Main,
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From whence they never can return again.
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The Force of France he ne'er was known to fear,
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But like a stout Commander, vow'd to clear
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The Seas of French, or they shou'd make his Grave
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And Monument in a rough roaring Wave.
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The next was Rook, that brave Heroick Soul,
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Who none alive cou'd ever yet Controul;
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A Dozen men of War of France he Burn'd,
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Who e'er next day was all to Ashes turn'd.
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The F[r]ench was follow'd to their very shore,
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Pursu'd with Guns, which did like Thunder roar
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Such Admirals before was never known,
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They fear'd Old Lewis, nay, and shook his Throne.
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Nor were the Valiant Dutch-men far behind,
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They on the Ocean bear a Noble mind;
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True Sons of Thunder, that will not retreat,
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Until they see their Foes destroy'd and beat.
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Tho' they had once been Wounded on the Main,
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Like Soldiers, they resolv'd to bleed again,
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Or bring the proud insulting Tyrant low,
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Who strives to seek all Europe's Overthrow.
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Those Valiant Souls let all good Men commend,
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Their Lives they ventur'd freely, to defend
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Religion, Laws, and likewise Liberty;
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'Tis better dye, than live in Slavery.
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But God above I hope will ever bless
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Our Arms by Sea and Land with good Success;
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That Victories may constantly encrease,
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Till War is swallow'd in a Glorious Peace.
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Now for King William let all Subjects pray,
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That God would Guard his Person night and day,
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From all false Friends, and likewise open Foes,
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Let Angels Guard him wheresoe'er he goes.
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