Sure ruin waits unhappy Absalon,
Alike by conquest or defeat undone.
Who could relentless see such youth, and charms,
Expire, with wretched fate, in impious arms?
A prince so formed, with earth's and heaven's applause,
To triumph o'er crowned heads in David's cause.
Or, grant him victor, still his hopes must fail,
Who, conquering, would not for himself prevail;
The faction, whom he trusts for future sway,
Him and the public would alike betray;