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By Faction's stern and gloomy lust of change,
And selfish rage inspired and dark revenge—
Nor ween, my Friend, that favouring Fate forebodes
That Albion's state, the toil of demi-gods,
From ancient manners pure, through ages long,
And from unnumber'd friendly aspects sprung;
When poison'd at the heart its soul expires,
Shall e'er again relume its generous fires:
No future day may such fair Frame restore:
When Albion falls, she falls to rise no more.
