Usurpation – The Poetry Monster

Thou ‘adst to my soul no title or pretence;

I was mine own, and free,

Till I had given myself to thee;

But thou hast kept me slave and prisoner since.

Well, since so insolent thou ‘rt grown,

Fond tyrant! I’ll depose thee from thy throne;

Such outrages must not admitted be

In an elective monarchy.

Part of my heart by gift did to thee fall;

My country, kindred, and my best

Acquaintance, were to share the rest;

But thou, their covetous neighbour, drav’st out all:

Nay more; thou mak’st me worship thee,

And wouldst the rule of my religion be:

Did ever tyrant claim such power as you,

To be both emperor and pope too?

The public miseries, and my private fate,

Deserve some tears; but greedy thou

(Insatiate maid!) wilt not allow

That I one drop from thee should alienate:

Nor wilt thou grant my sins a part,

Though the sole cause of most of them thou art;

Counting my tears thy tribute and thy due,

Since first mine eyes I gave to you.

Thou all my joys and all my hopes dost claim;

Thou ragest like a fire in me,

Converting all things into thee;

Nought can resist, or not encrease the flame:

Nay, every grief and every fear

Thou dost devour, unless thy stamp it bear:

Thy presence, like the crowned basilisk’s breath,

All other serpents puts to death.

As men in hell are from diseases free,

So from all other ills am I;

Free from their known formality:

But all pains eminently lie in thee!

Alas, alas! I hope in vain

My conquer’d soul from out thine hands to gain;

Since all the natives there thou ‘ast overthrown,

And planted garrisons of thine own.