War.

Empires of kings are now, and ever were,
As Sallust saith, coincident to fear.

Kings must be dauntless; subjects will contemn
Those who want hearts and wear a diadem.

Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!
No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.

In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.

Those possessions short-liv'd are,
Into the which we come by war.

O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!

Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?

No places are,
This I am sure,
Secure
In this our wasting war.

Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.