"Live long in health!" the people shout, "Live long!"
Like joyous forest peacocks at full plume;
Doubt not that they are earnest in their song
Whilst o'er their heads your scepter'd hand doth loom;
But also dare not dream to flee your doom;
For even mighty Zeus is food for worms;
Now freshly are you sprang from lawful womb,
Yet soon to earth you surely must return;
Amongst adoring throng a fire doth burn:
Behind false smiles assassins are disguis'd;
Behold! Already wrought, your fun'ral urn!
'Tis fashion'd well, awaiting your demise;
Was ever there a king so dearly loved
As he who could not see the fisted glove?
Photo courtesy of ~pwm. This sonnet is in the Spenserian form:
AB
AB
BC
BC
CD
CD
EE
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