Rejoice, ye nations! one is dead
By whom ten thousand hearts have bled.
Widows and orphans, raise your voice . .
One voice, ye prostrate peoples, raise
To God; to God alone be praise!
All dwellers upon earth, rejoice:
The imprisond soul, the tortured limb,
Are now at last set free by Him.
Each king their fellow king supplied
With thongs to scourge ye: but your wrongs
Reacht highest heaven; Angelic tongues
Shouted when Earth's Flagellant died.
The Demons heard and yell'd below,
Glad that his endless day of woe
(Long after theirs) had dimly dawn'd.
The proudest of them all sate dumb,
Angry that any Prince should come,
Who grudg'd to give the soul he pawn'd.
He gnasht his teeth; opprobrious names
Muttered on Death, and wisht his flames
Could crack his stubborn ribs . . in vain . .
He must resign or share the place
Imperial; he must bear disgrace
While that intruder feels but pain.
The Devils' mouths but seldom water,
Yet, sniffing this fat slug of slaughter,
Theirs do, they then this grace begin,
"We have carous'd on king and pope
By dozens; could the worthiest hope
A second course of Ezzelin?"
