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LXXXI.

[Æl.]
Ye Christians, do as worthy of the name,
These spoilers of our holy houses slea;
Burst like a cloud from which doth come the flame,
Like torrents, gushing down the mountains, be.
And when along the green their champions flee,
Swift as the red consuming lightning-brand
That haunts the flying murderer o'er the lea,
So fly upon these spoilers of the land.
Let those that are unto their vessels fled
Take sleep eterne upon a fiery flaming bed.