199 Our fathers bent their baneful industry,
       To check a, monarchy that slowly grew;
     But did not France or Holland’s fate foresee,
       Whose rising power to swift dominion flew.

 200 In fortune’s empire blindly thus we go,
       And wander after pathless destiny;
     Whose dark resorts since prudence cannot know,
       In vain it would provide for what shall be.

 201 But whate’er English to the bless’d shall go,
       And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet;
     Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe,
       And him detesting a Batavian fleet.

 202 Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides,
       Waylays their merchants, and their land besets: 
     Each day new wealth without their care provides;
       They lie asleep with prizes in their nets.

 203 So, close behind some promontory lie
       The huge leviathans to attend their prey;
     And give no chase, but swallow in the fry,
       Which through their gaping jaws mistake the way.

 204 Nor was this all:  in ports and roads remote,
       Destructive fires among whole fleets we send: 
     Triumphant flames upon the water float,
       And out-bound ships at home their voyage end.

 205 Those various squadrons variously design’d,
       Each vessel freighted with a several load,
     Each squadron waiting for a several wind,
       All find but one, to burn them in the road.

 206 Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find,
       Bore all the gauds the simple natives wear;
     Some for the pride of Turkish courts design’d,
       For folded turbans finest Holland bear.

 207 Some English wool, vex’d in a Belgian loom,
       And into cloth of spungy softness made,
     Did into France, or colder Denmark, doom,
       To ruin with worse ware our staple trade.

 208 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold,
       Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest;
     And, as the priests who with their gods make bold,
       Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest.

 209 But ah! how insincere are all our joys! 
       Which, sent from heaven, like lightning make no stay;
     Their palling taste the journey’s length destroys,
       Or grief, sent post, o’ertakes them on the way.

 210 Swell’d with our late successes on the foe,
       Which France and Holland wanted power to cross,
     We urge an unseen fate to lay us low,
       And feed their envious eyes with English loss.

 211 Each element His dread command obeys,
       Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown;
     Who, as by one he did our nation raise,
       So now he with another pulls us down.

 212 Yet London, empress of the northern clime,
       By an high fate thou greatly didst expire;
     Great as the world’s, which, at the death of time
       Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire!