Page:Faction display'd. A poem. Answer'd paragraph by paragraph.pdf/57

 Who were above all private Ends, and joy'd When bravely for the publick Weal they dy'd: Who spread, like Branching Oaks, their Arms around, To shelter and Protect the Parent Ground; Tho' Storms of Thunder rattled o'er their Head, Yet all was safe beneath their Guardian Shade. Or sure Historians on our Faith impose, And never such a Race of Men arose; Or Nodding Nature to a Period draws; Or Providence, incens'd by Guilty Times, With-holds his Grace, and dooms us to our Crimes.

Pardon (for Harmony will bring Relief, Will sooth thy anxious Cares, and charm thy Grief) Rh