 | Divine poems
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Eleg. 22.
Yet sleeps thy vengeance? Can thy Iustice be
So slow to them, and yet to sharpe to me?
Dismount (just Iudge) from thy Tribunall Throne,
And pay thy Foemen, the deserved lone
Of their unjust designes; Make fierce thy hand,
And scourge thou thē, as they have scourg'd my lād
Breake thou their Adamantine hearts, & pound thē
To dust, and with thy finall curse confound them;
Let horror seize their soules; O may they bee
The scorne of Nations, that have scorned thee;
O, may they live distrest, and die bereaven
Of earth delights, and of the joyes of Heaven.
| Divine poems
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