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The Poem.
A Publick spirit scorns to plant no root
But such from which himself may gather fruit.
For thus he reasons, if I reap the gains
Of my Laborious predecessors pains;
How equal is it, that posterity
Should reap the fruits of present industry?
Should every age but serve its turn, and take
No thought for future times? it soon would make
A Bankrupt world, and so entail a curse
From age to age, as it grows worse and worse.
Our Christian predecessors careful thus
Have been1 1.1 to leave an heritage to us,
Christ precious truths2 1.2 conserved in their blood,
For no less price those truths our fathers stood.
They have transmitted, would not3 1.3 alienate
From us their children such a fair estate.
We eat what they did set, and shall truth fail
In our dayes? shall we cut off th' entail?
Or end the line of honour? nay, what's worse
Give future ages cause to hate, and curse
Our memories? like Nabot••,* 1.4 may this age
Part with their blood, sooner than heritage.
Let pity move us, let us think upon
Our4 1.5 childrens souls; when we are dead, and gone;
Shall they poor souls, in darkness grope, when are
Put out the light, by which they else might see
The way to glory? yea, what's worse? shall it
Be said in time to come5 1.6 Christ did commit
A precious treasure, purchas'd by this blood;
To us, for ours; and for our Childrens good?
But we like cowards, false, perfidious men;
For carnal ease, lost it, our selves, and them.
O let us leave to after ages more,
Than we receiv'd from all that went before.
That those to come may bless the Lord, and keep
Our names alive, when we in dust shall sleep.