Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/76

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Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds Upon Death’s purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. J. Shirley


lxx

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms.
He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these. And he can spread thy name o’er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun’s bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses’ bower: The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
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