Crosses
Oh what fraile things
Are Kings?
They seeme immortall Gods,
Yet have their periods:
And must take harbour in that cell,
Where wormes unhospitall doe dwell:
Who (like Lycaon) doe each guest devoure
Bee Hee a peasant, or an Emperour.
One King alone,
Did shunne
Corruption, but not
The Graves unsatiate throte:
This King did weare a wreath of thorne,
Which him did wound, but not adorne:
A bloudy crosse of wood Hee made his throne,
Although Hee might have had a golden one.
Villaines forlorne,
In scorne
Him hayl'd His subjects cry'd,
Let him bee crucify'd.
One of his Vassalls did him judge;
Yet Hee tooke all without a grudge:
Since that the King of Kings endur'd such losses,
How can fraile Kings scape thorny cares, and crosses.
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