Must on my Athens shortly come:
My thoughts inspir’d presage,
Slaughters and Battels to the coming Age;
Oh! might I die upon that glorious stage:
Oh that! but then he grasp’d his sword, & death concludes
his rage.
XXIV.
Draw back, draw back thy sword, O Fate!
Lest thou repent when ’tis too late,
Lest by thy making now so great a waste,
By spending all Man-kind upon one feast,