And ever since that martial Synod met,

Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;

And folks in office at the mention fret,[bj]

And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame.

How will Posterity the deed proclaim!

Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,

To view these champions cheated of their fame,

By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here,

Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?