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Ode to Constance

Widowed royalty unjustly denied

The crown for her son, rightful heir usurped

At home before yet able to espy

His own ambitions others disburse,

Alone berating fickle pacts of men

And changing tongues so sorrow stoops most proud,

Indignant justice she craves forgotten

By France. Yet hopes renew when Pope denounced

And war restored with England’s confused lords.

Resolve and fierce will command but in brief.

True claim becomes much mourned prisoner

And drives bold spirit to sensible grief.

Hairs, freedoms, and sorrows that can’t be bound

Only in death for loss of all is found.











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