(seq. 4)

On the death of General Wolfe
Yet these were small, 'twas Liberty he sought,
His country Drew his sword, & twas for her he fought.
Thus in his countrys cause he won his fame,
A Patriot Hero was his much lov'd name
And be the glorious name to Him apply'd.
For which he conquer'd and for which he dy'd.
While for his Troops the anxious Chief provides,
The Leaden Death his genrous care derides;
Long both to yeild the kept his ground,
Mock'd the first Blow & Brav'd a second wound,
'Tile the last fatal stroke desides the Strife,
As Liberty his dying Breath inspir'd, had, all his conduct [fird?][fird?]
So Liberty his dying Breath inspird;
No pangs he fels but what his country gave
her fate a while detaind him from the grave;
Soon as, the happy conquest reach'd his ears
And every gate the glorious tidings bears
'Tis all I ask the raptur'd Chief replies
And to [agentte?] Slumber clos'd his eyes
While guardian Angels watch'd his latest Breath
And snatch'd him from the greedy Jaws of death
And Strait they conduct him to a Vacant throne
Which shouting saints proclaim to be his own
There Marlbro' greets him with his happy state
And the great Howe the Partner of his fate. ---
But stile the glorious champion never dy'd,
His godlike deeds a mortal fate defy'd;