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ANNUAL REGISTER, 1803. 
The doubling game the dauntless Scott pursues, 
And, in the jaws of death, the fight renews ; 
Aloft in air, her tattered plandands fly, 
Low bends the stately mast, that piere’d the sky ; 
Devouring flames consume the glowing deck, 
And a third navy floats—a boundless wreck ! 
Gaul views, enrag’d, her strongest prop o’erthrown, 
And into air her daring proje¢ts blown. 
Rage, baffled Gaul, for thus, ere yonder sun, 
Thrice his bright journey round the zodiac run, 
In black disgrace shall all thy triumphs end, 
And all thy tow’ring pride in smoke ascend. 
The injur’d objeét of thy jealous hate, 
Hurls at thy impious head the bolt of fate ; 
On outrag’d heaven’s and man’s determin’d foe, 
Slow, but resistless, rolls the fatal blow ! 
Ye myriads, whom her direful thirst of blood 
Plung’d in the rapid Rhone’s empurpled flood, 
Or from’ the cannon’s rending mouth consign’d, 
In mangled fragments to the blasting wind ; 
All whom dire Robespierre’s unsparing rage 
Crush’d in the blooming vigour of your age ; 
Or by succeeding Molocks dragg’d to death, 
Who, in deep dungeons, drank infe¢tion’s breath ; 
All, who by Hunger’s pangs to madness fir’d, 
On your own sabre’s guiltless edge expir’d ; 
Or, to avoid unnumber’d horrors, quaffd, 
With pale and quiv’ring lips, th’ empoison’d draught ; 
Shout from the grave!—in your, in Nature’s cause, 
Th’ avenging sword insulted Britain draws! 
See her bright ensigns blaze from shore to shore, 
S2e her bold offspring round those ensigns pour ; 
Her ancient nobles, warm with all the fires 
That burn’d at Cressy in their daring sires ; 
Her valiant knights, whose streaming banners show 
Their blazon’d triumphs o’er the haughty foe ; 
Her gen’rous merchants, fam’d thro’ every clime, 
Of spotless faith, and dauntless sou) sublime ; 
Whose flags, thro’ many a distant sea unfurl’d, 
Uphold the commerce of the ravag’d world ;— 
In social bands remotest nations join, 
Chill’d at the Pole, or scorch’d beneath the Line ; 
Patriots, to virtue dear, for freedom bold, 
Who honor still, their proudest treasure, hold ; 
Her peasants glowing with a Briton’s zeal, 
Whose loyal hearts are oak, whose sinews steed ; 
All 
