My maw is ever empty for their blood,
“On! on!” I cry for newer prey;
My master Mars doth urge me take the field
Myself to slaughter and to slay.
Away with peace and arbitration’s hand,
’Neath whose pale spell I envious quake:
They only dare to cross my boist’rous path;
Them can I never bend nor break.
But on I go, and when my wreak is o’er
And Mars requites me for my pain,