Excerpt from Bell's Classical Arrangement of Fugitive Poetry, Vol. 4

Thank Heaven! at last our wars are o'er,
We're very wise, and very poor:
All our campaigns at once are done,
We've ended where we just begun,
In perfect peace: long may it last,
And pay for all the taxes past!
Refill th' Exchequer, chace our fears,
And dry up all the ladies' tears,
For husbands, sons, and lovers lost,
In duels some, in battles most.

Rise, rise, ye Britons, Thankful rise!
Extol your Empress to the skies,
Crown her with laurels ever green,
With olives fair inwove between:

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