Page:Faction display'd. A poem. Answer'd paragraph by paragraph.pdf/29

 Peace to the Glorious Dead. We justly Mourn His Ashes, ever Sacred be his Urn: But here, my Ls, we are together met, To vow to A's Sceptre endless Hate. For since my hope of W—ton is expir'd, With just Revenge and Indignation fir'd, I'll boldly Write, and Preach her Title down, My thund'ring Voice shall shake her in the throne; Do you the Sword, and I'll engage the Gown. A Pause ensu'd, till Patriarcho's Grace, Was pleas'd to rear his Huge unweildy Mass; A Mass unacted with a Reas'ning Soul, Else would he ne'er be made so vile a Tool; Would ne'er his Apostolick Charge profane, And Atheists, and Fanaticks Caufe maintain.

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