AN
EPISTLE
TO
THE
King
of
Sweden
,
FROM
A
LADY
of
GREAT-BRITAIN
.
TO
Thee
rude
Warrior
,
whom
we
once
admir'd
,
And
thought
thy
Actions
spoke
Thee
half
inspir'd
,
While
Justice
held
the
Ballance
of
thy
Cause
,
And
ev'ry
Language
sounded
thy
Applause
:
But
since
Ambition
and
Revenge
prevails
,
Thy
Glories
languish
,
and
our
Wonder
fails
;
To
Thee
a
Woman
sends
with
Gen'rous
Care
,
And
Warns
thy
Rashness
timely
to
beware
.
FAME
now
a
Tale
of
fresher
Date
has
told
,
Beyond
thy
mad
Romantick
Feats
of
Old
:
Our
Malecontents
thy
numerous
Squadrons
boast
,
Describe
thy
Penants
waving
on
our
Coast
,
And
to
the
Fearful
cry
,
Britannia's
lost
!
But
we
,
who
know
the
Genius
of
our
Isle
,
At
their
Report
,
and
thy
Invasion
smile
.
ARE
not
our
Dames
in
every
Climate
fam'd
?
Les
Belles
Angloises
by
ev'ry
Nation
nam'd
?
Are
not
our
Youth
in
foreign
Fields
admir'd
,
Alike
by
Valour
and
by
Love
inspir'd
;
And
shall
those
Fair
ones
,
who
the
Morning
pass
,
Consulting
that
dear
Friend
to
Love
,
the
Glass
;
To
set
the
Favourite
,
and
the
Patch
to
place
;
To
bow
,
and
glance
it
,
with
becoming
Grace
To
melt
the
Hero's
Heart
and
charm
his
Eyes
,
Fall
to
thy
Gothick
Rage
a
Sacrifice
?
No
,
to
thy
Terror
learn
,
our
British
Youth
Are
fam'd
for
Honour
,
Constancy
and
Truth
:
Each
wou'd
as
soon
consent
thy
Cause
to
aid
,
As
yield
the
Fair
to
whom
his
Vows
are
paid
.
Unlike
the
Passive
Females
of
thy
Land
,
The
Arbitrators
of
the
War
we
stand
.
At
Flurt
of
Fan
,
our
armed
Legions
fly
,
And
they
who
dare
offend
,
must
dare
to
die
.
We
know
thy
daring
Heart
is
nurs'd
in
Blood
,
Wild
as
the
fiercest
Savage
of
the
Wood
;
With
Fame
like
this
,
in
Northern
Slaughter
shine
,
Rough
as
the
frozen
Bear
,
thy
neighb'ring
Sign
:
But
here
thy
brutal
Force
no
Growns
shall
gain
;
By
Love
,
as
well
as
Arms
our
Monarchs
Reign
;
Can
we
our
GEORGE
and
His
lov'd
RACE
disown
,
To
find
thy
barren
Chastity
a
Throne
?
No
!
in
thy
shaggy
Rugg
rude
Slumbers
take
,
And
dream
of
Conquests
thou
shalt
never
make
;
At
distance
be
thy
Leathern
Doublet
worn
,
Nor
risque
thy
Life
to
purchase
certain
Scorn
;
For
now
the
Wormwood
Dam'sels
apprehend
The
dismal
Consequence
of
such
a
Friend
:
Begin
to
tremble
at
the
Truths
they
hear
,
And
vow
their
Champions
shall
for
GEORGE
declare
:
They
fear
thy
Tast
shou'd
lead
young
James
astray
,
And
quite
unman
their
Monarch
ev'ry
way
:
In
his
Excuse
they
still
would
have
to
tell
,
Tho'
War's
his
Foe
,
He
loves
exceeding
well
;
The
Proof
from
whence
he
sprung
,
is'not
to
Fight
;
His
Surgeon
proves
Hereditary
Right
.
BUT
if
by
thy
Example
he
should
grow
Cold
as
thy
Rocks
of
Ice
,
and
Hills
of
Snow
:
Shou'd
he
clean
Linnen
hold
in
dire
Disgrace
,
And
sable
Crape
his
Ivory
Neck
enchase
:
Shou'd
he
,
like
thee
,
on
Shives
of
coarsest
Bread
,
Rudely
with
dirty
Thumbs
his
Butter
spread
;
Banish
the
generous
Juice
of
Grapes
away
,
And
with
small
acid
Tiff
his
Thirst
allay
;
Swallow
lean
hasty
Meals
of
Tastless
Roots
,
And
Eat
,
and
Drink
,
and
Live
and
Reign
in
Boots
;
Shou'd
he
,
like
thee
regardless
of
the
Fair
,
Lye
down
to
Sleep
,
and
only
wake
to
War
;
Cou'd
He
in
Arms
,
like
Gallant
Brunswick
,
Shine
,
Yet
wou'd
His
Female
Friends
His
Cause
decline
,
Nor
justifie
a
Right
so
slovenly
Divine
.
CONSULT
thy
Safety
;
send
no
Armies
forth
Beyond
the
Confines
of
thy
frozen
North
:
Since
of
our
British
Fair
this
Truth
is
told
,
We
love
the
Chaste
,
but
we
abhor
the
Cold
:
But
if
thy
daring
Folly
will
proceed
,
Fate
drives
thee
forward
,
and
thy
Fall's
decreed
.
EACH
lovely
Toast
her
Hero's
Soul
inspires
,
Urges
the
War
,
and
wakes
his
Martial
Fires
:
Think
but
what
Terrors
will
thy
Spirits
seize
When
thou
shalt
face
such
Enemies
as
these
;
See
a
Battalion
lac'd
with
Point
d'Espan
,
And
warm
in
glowing
Velvets
leads
the
Van
:
With
Warlike
Air
,
th'
embroider'd
Chiefs
appear
,
And
gracefully
the
Looms
rich
Labours
wear
:
In
Modish
Order
,
o'er
their
Sholders
fly
Deville's
Wiggs
,
or
Lockman's
smarter
Tye
;
The
Gold-Clock'd
Stocking
draws
the
Gazer's
Sight
,
And
Verdin's
Red-top'd
Shoe
,
stitch'd
round
with
White
:
Fine
Meclin
Laces
round
their
Fingers
play
From
Snowy
Shirts
,
at
least
chang'd
twice
a
Day
.
THESE
well-dress'd
Youths
to
thy
Destruction
move
,
And
Vict'ry
waits
upon
the
Wings
of
Love
,
Our
Sexes
Softness
is
to
thee
unknown
;
What
by
a
Look
,
or
one
kind
Kiss
is
done
!
Thou
,
who
a
Stranger
art
to
Love's
Delight
,
Can'st
ne'er
imagine
how
these
Lovers
Fight
.
These
are
the
Men
,
who
on
the
Flandrian
Plains
O'erthrew
the
Grand
Monarch
in
Ten
Campaigns
:
Will
these
give
way
before
Thy
Vandal
Host
And
yield
their
former
Labours
all
for
lost
?
No
,
these
for
Liberty
,
and
Beauty
draw
,
And
all
around
the
Neighb'ring
Tyrants
awe
:
These
Cock
,
take
Snuff
,
invoke
the
darling
Fair
,
And
then
dispatch
the
Foe
endebonair
.
AIM
then
no
more
,
fond
Prince
,
at
George's
Throne
,
Wake
from
the
flatt'ring
Dream
,
and
guard
thy
own
,
In
ev'ry
Element
alike
we
Reign
,
And
launch
our
ready
Squadrons
on
the
Main
:
Our
Champions
,
jocund
o'er
the
flowing
Bowl
,
Reigns
in
their
Wooden
Worlds
,
from
Pole
to
Pole
;
Fearless
of
Danger
,
cut
their
conqu'ring
Way
,
And
from
invading
Tyrants
scour
the
Sea
.
Safer
thou
might'st
in
Lakes
of
Sulphur
sleep
,
Than
brave
these
dreadful
Masters
of
the
Deep
:
Beneath
their
Cannons
roar
,
thy
Flaggs
must
fall
,
ORFORD
presides
,
and
these
are
Brittons
all
.
These
,
bold
as
Lyons
,
will
the
Fight
maintain
,
Or
drive
thee
back
,
or
sink
thee
in
the
Main
:
Tho'
Boisterous
as
the
Winds
at
Sea
they
roar
,
They're
gentle
all
,
as
Southern
Gales
on
Shore
.
Th'
Engagement
past
,
the
tender
Thoughts
return
,
And
for
the
Fair
in
Love's
foft
Fires
they
burn
;
In
Beauty's
dear
Embraces
lull'd
they
lie
,
But
when
their
Country
calls
,
Her
strongest
Foes
defie
.
THESE
hoist
their
Sails
,
and
wait
thy
Coming
o'er
,
And
if
thou
dar'st
to
touch
Britannia's
Shore
,
Ne'er
hope
to
see
thy
Native
Sweden
more
.
How
wilt
thou
dare
these
Hearts
of
Oak
to
meet
Shou'd
Young
Augustus
deign
to
lead
the
Fleet
?
Augustus
!
He
!
who
striding
o'er
the
Slain
,
Hunted
thy
New
Ally
o'er
Flandria's
Plain
:
The
Boy
,
whose
Cause
forsaken
now
by
all
,
Calls
for
a
Madman
to
prevent
his
Fall
.
No
Dastard
Blood
our
Princes
Veins
disgrace
,
Unlike
the
Princes
of
a
Former
Race
,
Who
wisely
Slept
or
Blubber'd
in
Distress
,
He'll
Face
the
Battel
,
and
will
force
Success
.
FROM
Great
Plantagenet
Augustus
springs
,
By
His
Example
taught
to
Conquer
Kings
.
Methinks
I
see
the
Royal
Warriour
stand
Dealing
amongst
his
Chiefs
thy
Forfeit
Land
;
While
Thou
shalt
fall
Unpity'd
,
and
Forlorn
,
All
Europe's
Terror
once
,
but
now
all
Europe's
Scorn
.
FINIS
.