And must lay in the grave his intoxicate head,
For although by his aid he his votaries made
Full often dead drunk, they have now drunk him dead.
O Mars, battle's Lord! canst thou not draw a sword,
As forth from its temple thy statue we toss?
We want not thy lance, since our legions advance
Beneath the bless'd banner of Constantine's cross.
Juno, Venus, and Pallas, to shame were so callous,
And have always so widely from decency swerved,
That it well might be urged, if their statues were scourged