And shew mankind what English thieves can do. That day, when first I mounted to the throne, I swore to let all foreign foes alone. Through love of peace to terms did I advance, 35 And made, they say, a shameful league with France.[2] But different scenes rise horrid to my view, I charged my hosts to plunder and subdue-- At first, indeed, I thought short wars to wage And sent some jail-birds to be led by Gage,[3] 40 For 'twas but right, that those we marked for slaves Should be reduced by cowards, fools, and knaves; Awhile directed by his feeble hand, Whose troops were kicked and pelted through the land, Or starved in Boston, cursed the unlucky hour 45 They left their dungeons for that fatal shore. France aids them now, a desperate game I play, And hostile Spain will do the same, they say; My armies vanquished, and my heroes fled, My people murmuring, and my commerce dead, 50 My shattered navy pelted, bruised, and clubbed, By Dutchmen bullied, and by Frenchmen drubbed, My name abhorred, my nation in disgrace, How should I act in such a mournful case! My hopes and joys are vanished with my coin, 55 My ruined army, and my lost Burgoyne! What shall I do--confess my labours vain, Or whet my tusks, and to the charge again! But where's my force--my choicest troops are fled, Some thousands crippled, and a myriad dead-- 60 If I were owned the boldest of mankind, And hell with all her flames inspired my mind, Could I at once with Spain and France contend, And fight the rebels on the world's green end?-- The pangs of parting I can ne'er endure, 65 Yet part we must, and part to meet no more! Oh, blast this Congress, blast each upstart State, On whose commands ten thousand captains wait; From various climes that dire Assembly came, True to their trust, as hostile to my fame, 70 'Tis these, ah these, have ruined half my sway, Disgraced my arms, and led my slaves astray-- Cursed be the day when first I saw the sun, Cursed be the hour when I these wars begun: The fiends of darkness then possessed my mind, 75 And powers unfriendly to the human kind. To wasting grief, and sullen rage a prey, To Scotland's utmost verge I'll take my way, There with eternal storms due concert keep And while the billows rage, as fiercely weep-- 80 Ye highland lads, my rugged fate bemoan, Assist me with one sympathizing groan,[4] For late I find the nations are my foes, I must submit, and that with bloody nose, Or, like our James, fly basely from the state, 85 Or share, what still is worse--old Charles's fate.