Musket smoke and the clashing of thine blades;

Of accounts are branded by a single page

As men howling, thou thy memory fades

Hither, I arrent to question our age.

Stab him in his heart, and let him to bleed

As to men art bounded to merely grieve

For humankind can be made to misled,

For death may not be as thy may perceive.

Nay, corse men must not weep nor they may cry.

Will thee retort morals thy abide by?

Hark! Dost thou watcheth over watchful eyes?

And the crows croak to fare mankind’s demise.

Thou doth not turn to heavens nor sky.

Lo! Mere  Mankind may say “the end is nigh.”