The Scaffolds

Poemata, XIII

What began at scaffold ends at scaffold too
By wintry sun the crowd brought forth a groan
Not supposing perhaps the power then on loan
And so for loves of power false and true
The world too would groan at last to see
It swallowed whole into their history;

With bread and wine betaken like a saint
The kings as one they scaffolded in fear
That from the ground more kingly heads appear
Soever-springing crowns though small and faint
So scaffolder, pray put the scepter down
No kings we are, though you may play the clown;

And rather than submit to be my friend
He sent himself to scaffold in the end.