I have no hopes, the Duke he says, and dies.
In sure and certain hopes, the prelate cries:
Of these two learned peers, I pr'ythee say, man,
Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman?
The Duke he stands an infidel confess'd:
He's our dear brother, quoth the lordly priest.
The Duke, though knave, still brother dear he cries
And who can say the reverend Prelate lies?
On Bishop Atterbury's Burying The Duke Of Buckingham
Matthew Prior
(1)
Poem topics: brother, dear, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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