Untitled Thomas Paine Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Cleary, Scott M., ed. Claeys, Gregory, gen. ed. Thomas Paine Collected Writings. Vol. II. Part 2: Poetry. Princeton Princeton UP 2026 pp. []-[]. 5 Volumes.

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To the Printer of the Public Advertiser . Sir .

Though I was much pleased with Mr. Whitehead’s Ode for his Majesty’s Birth-Day , published in your Paper of Saturday last , yet I could not but think the Thought might , without any great Impropriety , receive a different Turn . This I have attempted to give it in the following Copy of Verses ; and if you think so trivial a Production , by , perhaps one of the humblest of the Muse’s Train , can afford any Degree of Pleasure to your Readers , I suppose I shall , if you think it sufficiently correct , see it inserted in the Public Advertiser when Matters of more Consequence will give place to it .

I am , sir , Your humble Servant , Atlanticus . Bloomsbury , June 6.
Behold ! What martial Bands are those , Whose Look speaks Terror to their Foes ? They mount the Bark — they loose the Sail , And o’er the wide Atlantic fly With speed before the driving Gale , While hostile Frowns deform their Eye . What means this more than frantic Rage ? Is head-long Faction gone so far ? Can Fathers with their Sons engage , And Britain on her Offspring war ? Stop , stop , rash Men , and timely learn to know What dire Effects from Civil Discord flow . Shall Gallia’s Sons exulting see Intestine Broils our Peace destroy ? Or prouder Spain , with envious Glee , By Faction’s Aid indulge her Joy ? Forbid it , thou Almighty Lord ! That filial Blood should ever stain Britannia’s conquering Sword , Or blot with foul Disgrace our Reign . No more , my Sons , with plaintive Sounds , Shall harshly strike my tortur’d Ear ; Hurt by Oppression’s galling Wounds , Or drop in Grief the silent Tear : Henceforth we’ll try , with lenient Hand , Gently their fest’ring Sores to heal ; If gentle Sway and mild Command May yet restore the public Weal . Be lawless Rage restrain’d with chast’ning Hand , But not Destruction dealt on all the Land . Speak thus , Britannia’s gracious King , And echoing Shouts thy Praises ring ; Whose loud Acclaim shall rend the Sky , While rapid Winds shall waft the Sound O’er the wide Main , and spread the Joy Thy discontented Realms around : Then shall thy froward Sons forbear Their rash Resolves — their Bosoms burn , With honest Shame they’ll drop the Tear , And soft Affection soon return : Calm Reason’s Voice shall then be heard , All harsh and jarring Discord cease , Misguided Rage no more be fear’d , But hush to Harmony and Peace : With fervent Zeal they then will raise to gracious George Affection’s Voice ; With ardent Love resound his Praise , And filial Gratitude rejoice . With rapt’rous Hearts they’ll join the festive Day , And joyful hail Great George’s natal Day . Persuasive be the Muse , whose honest Aim Would humbly point the Path to genuine Fame .
A.