To make our errors cause of your decrees.
We fretting fume, and burning wax right wood;
We cry for swords and harmful harness crave;
We rashly rave, whiles from our present rage
You frame a cause of long-foredeemed doom.
2.
When Britain so desired her own decay,
That even her native brood would root her up,
Seem’d it so huge a work, O heavens, for you
To tumble down and quite subvert her state,