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A Manifesto from the bold Sons of Britain, to the poor proud Spaniard besieging Gibraltar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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A Manifesto from the bold Sons of Britain, to the poor proud Spaniard besieging Gibraltar.

Dear bought Gibraltar, shall we part with thee,
And lose our vast Dominions of the Sea?
No, no, a British Brav'ry we display,
Like Log-wood you, or lazy Lumps of Clay.

39

Britons are stout as in the Days of Yore.
Ye Slaves, go sweat in Indian Mines for Ore,
To circulate through France and Britain's Isle,
And when we see its golden Cheeks we'll smile,
Say, here's the rich Return of Britain's Trade,
Which gives the proud and idle Drones their Bread.
The Annals of Eliza's Reign do boast,
Your mad Armado danc'd upon our Coast,
A deadly Dance, when th'Elements combin'd,
Fierce angry Waves, and Hurricanes of Wind,
And God Almighty in the Battle join'd.
The conqu'ring Floods did o'er your Vessels ride,
Swallow'd up Thousands each returning Tide.
From Namure's Siege unto Almanza's War,
The Glory of the Briton's travell'd far.
Each Day our Heroes did fresh Laurels gain,
Climbing o'er Heaps, like Mountains, of the Slain
Which made the proud and haughty Spaniards bow:
For Heav'n was still our grand Confed'rate too.
Strength may push down all Nations to Disgrace,
Except the Angels and the British Race.
We fear no Beings, nor their Fury dread,
Save heav'nly Hosts and GOD upon their Head.
Britain, assisted by the Arms of France,
Shall to Madrid in solemn Pomp advance.
The wise, the warlike George prepares to go
And finish Peace, or give the killing Blow,
Success attend his Actions ev'ry where,
'Till British Lions shall th'Imperial Eagle tear.