O King of Terrors! whose unbounded sway

O King of Terrors! whose unbounded sway

All that have life, must certainly obey;

The king, the priest, the prophet, all are thine,

Nor would even God (in flesh) thy stroke decline.

My name is on thy roll, and sure I must

Encrease thy gloomy kingdom in the dust.

My soul at this no apprehension feels,

But trembles at thy swords, thy racks, thy wheels;

Thy scorching fevers, which distract the sense,

And snatch us raving, unprepared from hence; .mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}10

At thy contagious darts, that wound the heads

Of weeping friends who wait at dying beds.—

Spare these, and let thy time be when it will;

My office is to die, and thine to kill.

Gently thy fatal sceptre on me lay,

And take to thy cold arms, insensibly, thy prey.