James Shirley(1596–1666)
Dirge ("The glories of our blood and state")
T h e glories of our blood and state
Are s h a d o w s , n o t substantial things;
T h e r e is no armor against fate;
D e a t h lays his icy h a n d on kings.
S c e p t e r and c r o w n
M u s t t u m b l e d o w n
A n d in the dust be equal m a d e
W i t h the poor c r o o k e d scythe and spade.
S o m e m e n with swords m a y reap the f i e l d
And plant fresh laurels 2 where they kill,
B u t their strong nerves at last m u s t yield;
T h e y t a m e but o n e a n o t h e r still.
Early or late
T h e y s t o o p t o fate
A n d m u s t give up their m u r m u r i n g b r e a t h ,
W h e n they, p a l e captives, c r e e p t o d e a t h .
T h e garlands w i t h e r o n y o u r brow,
T h e n b o a s t n o m o r e y o u r m i g h t y d e e d s ;
U p o n death's p u r p l e altar n o w
S e e w h e r e t h e v i c t o r - v i c t i m b l e e d s .
Your h e a d s m u s t c o m e
T o t h e c o l d t o m b ;
O n l y t h e a c t i o n s o f t h e j u s t
S m e l l s w e e t a n d b l o s s o m i n their dust.
T H E M A S S A C H U S E T T S BAY PSALM BK*