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 Ye daring Spirits of the Roman Race, See Toil your proudest Claims efface! Aw'd at the Name, fierce Appius rising bends, And hardy Cinna from his Throne attends: "He comes," they cry, "to whom the Fates assign'd With surer Arts to work what we design'd, From Year to Year the stubborn Herd to sway, Mouth all their Wrongs, and all their Rage obey; Till own'd their Guide and trusted with their Pow'r, He mock'd their Hopes in one decisive Hour; Then tir'd and yielding, led them to the Chain, And quench'd the Spirit we provok'd in vain."


 * But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal Hands

Fair Liberty's heroic Empire stands; Whose Thunders the rebellious Deep controul, And quell the Triumphs of the Traitor's Soul, Rh