Book II.
POETRY.
79
Piles of Barbarick gold should glitter there,
The wealth of kingdoms, and the pomp of war;
But, by your crime, ye gods, our hopes are crost,
And those imaginary triumphs lost;
Inter'd with Leo, in one fatal hour,
Our prospects perish'd, as they liv'd before.
The End of the Second BOOK.
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VIDA's
