William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

AS when it happeneth that some lovely town

Unto a barbarous besieger falls,

Who there by sword and flame himself installs,

And, cruel, it in tears and blood doth drown;

Her beauty spoiled, her citizens made thralls,

His spite yet so can not her all throw down

But that some statue, arch, fane of renown

Yet lurks unmaimed within her weeping walls:

So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wrack,

That time, the world, and death, could bring combined

Amidst that mass of ruins they did make,

Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind.

From this so high transcending rapture springs,

That I, all else defaced, not envy kings.