OUr fiery Sects scornd your Triumphant night,
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When only Bonfires lent the City light.
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More proudly they like Nero did designe
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The Citys flame should make the Country shine:
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And all those Bells which rung in your applause
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They would have melted to maintain the Cause.
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Alas! How little you in Action seem,
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When by their great intent we measure them?
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You the Fanatick party would correct;
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The rifle all rich Christians as a Sect.
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To Bonfires, you their rouling Pulpits turn;
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But they, instead of Tubs, would Churches burn.
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How weak are you, who to advance your Cause,
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Call in the firme support of Church and Lawes?
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Their Independent strength boldly upbraides
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The old discretion of such formall Aides.
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You court the City, and the Nation too,
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They bravely meant to ravish whom you woo.
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Their daring Chiefs, a Warre did undertake,
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Followd by those who still their Chiefs forsake.
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By such as only would consult and sway,
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But you chose those who fight and can obey.
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By their advantages you gaind the field,
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And what they judgd your weakness made them yield.
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As in destructive Warre, so you no lesse,
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Transcend them in the growing Arts of Peace.
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