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And to maintain them, ardent, skilful, potent, As the shrewd leader of unruly tribes. A simple heart and subtle spirit join'd Make such an union as in Nero's court May pass for curious and unnatural.

But is the public duty very urgent That so untowardly delays our happiness?

The punishment of those poor Nazarenes, Who, in defiance of imperial power, To their forbidden faith and rites adhere With obstinacy most astonishing.

A stubborn contumacy unaccountable!

There's sorcery in it, or some stronger power. But be it what it may, or good or ill, They look on death in its most dreadful form, As martial heroes on a wreath of triumph. The fires are kindled in the place of death, And bells toll dismally. The life of Rome In one vast clust'ring mass hangs round the spot, And no one to his neighbour utters word, But in an alter'd voice, with breath restrain'd, Like those who speak at midnight near the dead. Cordenius heads the band that guards the pile; So station'd, who could speak to him of pleasure? My words had come like sounds of evil omen.