Ii

Call for clear water, wash thine hands, be clean, Cry, What is truth? O Pilate; thou shalt know Haply too soon, and gnash thy teeth for woe Ere the outer darkness take thee round unseen That hides the red ghosts of thy race obscene Bound nine times round with hell's most dolorous flow, And in its pools thy crownless head lie low By his of Spain who dared an English queen With half a world to hearten him for fight, Till the wind gave his warriors and their might To shipwreck and the corpse-encumbered sea. But thou, take heed, ere yet thy lips wax white, Lest as it was with Philip so it be, O white of name and red of hand, with thee.