That unctuous, flattering Pharisaic hope,
Since none can realise your image e’er
Should fade in him; so fair, that it would seem
No wonder to me if with sudden travail
The mountains yielded me some nobler metal
Than gold and silver for your ornamenting,
Some metal long enwombed against your coming;
So fair that—ha! the knowledge that you die
Hard on another’s death, from loving die
That close upon his fore-flight you may hasten