Ye are many—they are few

From Percy Bysshe Shelley's The Mask of Anarchy

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.

I've always loved that stanza, and the whole poem. My favorite part of the poem, though, is the last two stanzas:

'And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again—again—again—

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number—
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.'