That human offspring still redundant grows,

And free-born Britons must contend for life.

  O! envy not the lands where Slaves reside,

Though their proud Tyrants boast of peaceful reign,

Where hard Oppression, freezing genial love,

Performs the work of War in embryo:

Let not mistaken fondness doat on Peace,

Preserv'd by arts more horrid far than War! ...

Let the dull languor of the pale Chinese

Desert their Infants, and their Peace enjoy!

But, O! let Britons still in Love and War

Exert the generous ardour of the soul;

Protect the Fair, and foster Infancy.

  By strenuous enterprize, and arduous toils,

Is public safety purchas'd and secur'd.

Negative merit, "I have done no harm,"

Is an inglorious boast: shall he who sits

Secure, enjoying Plenty in the lap

Of Ease, vaunt his recumbent Virtues? ... He

Brand with harsh epithets the Warrior's toils?

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