While in the bosom of that throng
Rise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?
What doom I did for this assign
Thou knewest, and that doom is thine.”
But then the offender,—“Give me room,
And I will gladly take my doom,
O King, to spend my latest breath,
Ere I am hurried to my death,
In telling for what highest grace
I was beholden to that race,