He shall be cast forth on the yellow sands

To feed the carrion birds that haunt the beach.

Rage not nor bluster as thou hear’st, for we,

E’en if we could not master him alive,

In any case will lord it o’er him dead,

Rule him and discipline, in thy despite,

By force⁠—my words he ne’er would heed, alive.

Yet ’tis a mark of villainy when one

Of the common deigns not to obey his lords.

For in a State that hath no dread of law

The laws can never prosper and prevail,

Nor could an armèd force be disciplined

Lacking the guard of awe and reverence.

Nay, though a man should tower in thews and might,

A giant o’er his fellows, let him think

Some petty stroke of fate may work his ruin.

Where dread prevails and reverence withal,

Believe me, there is safety; but the State,

Where arrogance hath licence and self-will,

Though for a while she run before the gale,

Will in the end make shipwreck and be sunk.

Dread in its proper season and degree

Must be maintained; let us not fondly dream

That we can act at will to please ourselves,

Nor pay the price of pleasure by our pains.

’Tis turn and turn; now this man lorded it

In insolence; ’tis now my hour of pride.

So I forewarn thee bury him not, lest thou

In burying shouldst dig thyself a grave.

Sage precepts these, my lord, and do not thou

Thyself become a scoffer of the dead.