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Great, good, and just, could I but rate My grief with thy too rigid fate, I'd weep the world in such a strain As it should deluge once again; But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes, I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds. - on Charles I [Grief] He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all. - My Dear and Only Love [Fate] I'll make thee glorious by my pen And famous by my sword. - My Dear and Only Love [Fame : Pen]
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