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Where Thames rolls deep his plenteous tides around,His banks with thick ascending turrets crown'd:Yet not these scenes the partial Muse could boast,Were Liberty, thy great distinction, lost.Britannia, hail! o'er whose luxuriant plainFor the free native waves the ripening grain:'Twas sacred Liberty's celestial smileFirst lur'd the Muses to thy generous isle;'Twas Liberty bestow'd the power to sing,And bid the verse-rewarding laurels spring.
Here Chaucer, first, his comic vein display'd,And merry tales in homely guise convey'd;Unpolish'd beauties grac'd the artless song,Tho' rude the diction, yet the sense was strong.

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