THE SHE – WOLF OF FRANCE

The Old Marlovian

braveheart-peter-hanly

WEAVE the warp, and weave the woof,

The winding-sheet of Edward`s race.

Give ample room, and verge enough

The characters of hell to trace.

Mark the year, and mark the night,

When Severn shall re-echo with affright

The shrieks of death, thro Berkley`s roofs that ring,

Shrieks of an agonizing king!

She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,

That tear`st the bowels of thy mangled mate,

From thee be born, who o`er thy country hangs

The scourge of Heav`n. What terrors round him wait!

Amazement in his van, with Flight combined

And Sorrow`s faded form, and Solitude behind.

          Fill high the sparkling bowl,

          The rich repast prepare;

          Reft of a crown, he may yet share the feast:

          Close by the regal chair

          Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

          A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

          Yet thee the din of battle bray,

          Lance to…

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