When darkened with eclipse, it surely sets too soon.
True, kings and princes sound my praises in their routs;
My star eclipsed, the rabble raise their clamorous shouts:
With cleavers, marrowbones, tongs, pokers, hideous ’larm,
They seek to fright some monster; really, shame all charm.210
Alas for Pharaoh, with those fearful yells and noise!
Alas his ‘Lord Supreme,’[294] drowned in that discord’s voice!
Both I and Moses servants are of Thee, our King;
Like woodman’s axe on tree, Thy wrath on me takes swing.
Some boughs Thou loppest, to plant. They quickly grow again.