In the rough wind. Though 'tis too late to save
You'd fain avenge. Such flouts are hardly borne
By Leaders whilst old lips can sound a horn
And hands, though ancient, yet can lift a glaive.
Sound an alarm! Let the fierce war-cry sound!
Your followers listen for it. They will cheer
When its defiant shrill salutes their ear.
Down with the Fortress! Raze it to the ground!
End it, not mend it! So they rattle round,
The shoutings and the floutings far and near.