p. 37 (seq. 40)

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37

And if they'r not to be appall'd by fear,
I wish the earth might drink that vital stream
That warms the heart, and feeds the manly glow,
The love inherent, planted in the breast,
To equal liberty, confer'd on man
By him who form'd the Peasant and the King!
Could we erase these actions from their minds,
Then (paramount to these ideal whims,
Utopian dreams of patriotic virtue,
Which long have danc'd in their distemper'd brains)
We'd smoothly glide on midst a race of slaves,
Nor heave one sigh tho' all the human race
Were plunged in darkness, slavery and vice.
If we could keep our foot-hold in the stirrup,
And like the noble Claudia of old,
Ride o'er the people, if they don't give way;
Or wish their fates were all involv'd in one;
For iv'e a Brother, as the Roman dame,
Who would strike off the rebel neck at once.

Secretary No all is o'er unless the sword decides,
Which cuts down Kings, and kingdoms oft divides.
By that appeal I think we can't prevail,
Their valour's great, and justice holds the scale.
They fight for freedom, while we stab the breast
Of every man, who is her friend protest.
They fight in virtue's ever sacred cause,
While we tread on divine and human laws.
Glory and victory, and lasting fame,
Will crown their arms and bless each Hero's name!

Meagre Away with all thy foolish, trifling cares,
And to the winds give all thy empty fears,
Let us repair and urge brave Sylla on,
I long to see the sweet revenge begun.
As fortune is a fickle, sportive dame,
She may for us the victory proclaim,
And with success our busy ploddings crown
though injured justice, stern and solemn frown,
Then they shall smart for ev'ry bold offence,
Estates confiscated will pay th' expence;
On their lost fortunes we a while will plume
And strive to think there is no after doom.

(Exeunt omnes)

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