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 .