WAR.
The poets old in their fond fables feign,
That mighty Mars is god of war and strife,
The Astronomers think that whereas Mars doth reign,
That all debate and discord must be rife;
Some think Bellona goddess of that life.
Among the rest that painter had some skill,
Which thus in arms did once set out the same:—
A field of gules, and on a golden hill,
A stately town consumed all with flame
On chief of sable taken from the dame,
A sucking babe, oh! born to bide mischance
Begored with blood and pierced with a lance
On high the Helm, I bear it well in mind,
The wreath was silver, powdered all with shot,
About the which, goutte du sang, did twine
A roll of sable black, and foul be blot
The crest two hands which may not be forgot,
For in the right a trenchant blade did stand,
And in the left a fiery, burning brand.