O King of Terrors, whose unbounded Sway br All that have Life, must certainly Obey; br The King, the Priest, the Prophet, all are Thine, br Nor wou'd ev'n God (in Flesh) thy Stroke decline. br My Name is on thy Roll, and sure I must br Encrease thy gloomy Kingdom in the Dust. br My soul at this no Apprehension feels, br But trembles at thy Swords, thy Racks, thy Wheels; br Thy scorching Fevers, which distract the Sense, br And snatch us raving, unprepar'd from hence; br At thy contagious Darts, that wound the Heads br Of weeping Friends, who wait at dying Beds. br Spare these, and let thy Time be when it will; br My Bus'ness is to Dye, and Thine to Kill. br Gently thy fatal Sceptre on me lay, br And take to thy cold Arms, insensibly, thy Prey.