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 By Faction's stern and gloomy lust of change, And selfish rage inspired and dark revenge— Nor ween, my Friend, that favouring Fate forebodes That Albion's state, the toil of demi-gods, From ancient manners pure, through ages long, And from unnumber'd friendly aspects sprung; When poison'd at the heart its soul expires, Shall e'er again relume its generous fires: No future day may such fair Frame restore: When Albion falls, she falls to rise no more.