Classic Poem

Alas, poor Death, where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting? Death
Alas poor mortal, void of story ,
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King . Christian
Poor Death! and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst. Death
Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die ;
These arms shall crush thee . Christian
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before:
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.