And call yee this to yield, O sonnes of dust,
To wronged brethren ev’ry one his own?
O no: it is your long malicious will
Now to the world to make by practice known,
With whose oppression you the ballance fill,
Just to your selves, indiff’rent else to none.
But what could they, who ev’n in birth declin’d,
From truth and right to lies and injuries?
To shew the venom of their cancred mynd
The adder’s image scarcely can suffice. [[176]]