When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught;
}
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire, }
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire, }
But purged our still-increasing crimes with fire.[309] }
Then perjured plots,[310] the still impending test,[311]
And worse—[312] but charity conceals the rest.
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;
Require not, gracious God! thy martyrs' blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,