English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 228. The Glories of our Blood and State |
| | | James Shirley (1596–1666) |
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| THE GLORIES of our blood and state | |
| Are shadows, not substantial things; | |
| There is no armour against fate; | |
| Death lays his icy hand on kings: | |
| Sceptre and Crown | 5 |
| Must tumble down, | |
| And in the dust be equal made | |
| With the poor crooked scythe and spade. | |
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| Some men with swords may reap the field, | |
| And plant fresh laurels where they kill: | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| When they, pale captives, creep to death. | |
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| 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: | 20 |
| Your heads must come | |
| To the cold tomb; | |
| Only the actions of the just | |
| Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. | |
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