 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
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VI.
Har.
Then I'll do heaven a service. To the skies
The daily quarrels of the land ascend.
The widow's, fatherless', and bondsmen's cries
Choke all the murky air and heaven astende.
On us, the rulers, doth the folk depend.
Cut off from earth these Norman hinds shall be.
Like a loud-roaring flame, my sword shall brende,
Like raindrops falling soft, I will them slea.
We wait too long, our purpose will defayte,
Prepare the high emprise, and rouse the champions straight.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
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