Her cruel rigour no one spares,
The blooming cheek, and hoary hairs,
Alike submit to her victorious hand.
O’er all she bears unbounded sway,
All her impartial scythe relentless mows:
Th’ ill-manner’d tyranness no difference shows,
Betwixt imperial and plebeian clay.
II.
When we the dark and dismal beach
Of dreaded floods below shall reach,