The Immovable

What though the sky be clouded o'er,
And Heav'us influence smile no more?
Though tempests rise, and earthquakes make
The giddy World's foundation shake?
A gallant breast contemns the feeble blow
Of angry Gods, and scorns what Fate can do.

What if alarums sounded be,
And we must face our enemy,
If cannons bellow out a death,
Or trumpets woo away our breath!
'Tis brave amidst the glittering throng to die.
Nay, Samson-like, to fall with company.

Then let the swordman domineer,
I can nor pike nor musket fear;
Clog me with chains, your envies tire,
For when I will, I can expire;
And when the puling fit of Life is gone,
The worst that cruel man can do, is done.