Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

For Evil News Rides Post, While Good News Baits.

The Other Shape, If Shape It Might Be Call'd That Shape Had None Distinguishable In Member, Joint, Or Limb; Or Substance Might Be Call'd That Shadow Seem'd, For Each Seem'd Either,--black It Stood As Night, Fierce As Ten Furies, Terrible As Hell, And Shook A Dreadful Dart; What Seem'd His Head The Likeness Of A Kingly Crown Had On. Satan Was Now At Hand.

What Boots It At One Gate To Make Defence, And At Another To Let In The Foe?

And Looks Commercing With The Skies, Thy Rapt Soul Sitting In Thine Eyes.

Where All Life Dies Death Lives.