To strike a burning taper, and consume
His feeble wings. Why, in an aire so milde,
Are they so monstrous growne up, and so vilde,
That Salvages can of themselves espy
Their errors, brand their names with infamy?
What! is their zeale for blood like Cyrus thirst?
Will they be over head and eares a curst?
A cruell way to found a Church on! noe,
T’is not their zeale but fury blinds them soe,
And pricks their malice on like fier to joyne,