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With the united powers sent forth, Of Bute, of Mansfield, and of North ; To scourge your insolence, my choice, While England mourns and Scots rejoice !
Bostonia first shall feel my power, And gasping midst the dreadful shower Of ministerial rage, shall cry, Oh, save me, Bute ! I yield I and die.
Then shall my thundering cannons rattle, My hardy veterans march to battle, Against Virginia's hostile land, To humble that rebellious band.2
At my approach her trembling swains, Shall quit well-cultivated plains, To seek the inhospitable wood; Or try, like swine of old, the flood.
Rejoice ! ye happy Scots rejoice ! Your voice lift up, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness on each tongue, The mighty praise of Bute be sung.