Have made you masters of the ill you meant,
You never must the soldiers' glory share,
Since all your trophies executions are:
Not thinking your successes understood,
Unless recorded and scor'd up in blood.
In which, to gull the people, you pretend,
160That Military Justice was your end;
As if we still were blind, not knowing this
To all your other virtues suited is;
Who only act by your great grandsires' law,