William Drummond

Inexorable

        MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
        I do detest my life,
        And with lamenting cries
        Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
        —But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.