How Thou art craven, worse than Thy twin Despair,
Hope; those Thou takest as ally and friend
take Thee as coward, though not by tongues’ penned
but by badged hearts do they Thy shame wear.
Yet, still splits Thy stupid smile unaware
and empty gleeful that the good Thou intends
be tainted toxic: Thy poison potions end
Thy namesake virtue and Thy patron’s prayer.
But then they disarm Thee that march Thee
to battle and host Thee but feed Thee naught,
boot Thee bootless and in their stead be shot
that they of torches and sunlight may live free,
and even in triumph betray Thee by coup,
but as Thou dies, so they with Thee die too.