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Last came Anarchy; he rode On a white horse, splashed with blood; He was pale even to the lips, Like Death in the Apocalypse. And be wore a kingly crown; And in his grasp a sceptre shone; And on his brow this mark I saw-- I am God, and King, and Law! With a pace stately and fast, Over English land he past, Trampling to a mire of blood The adoring multitude. And a mighty troop around, With their trampling shook the ground, Waving each a bloody sword, For the service of their Lord. And with glorious triumph, they Rode through England proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation. O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea, Passed the pageant swift and free, Tearing up, and trampling down, Till they came to London: town. And each dweller, panic-stricken, Felt his heart with terror sicken, Hearing the tempestuous cry Of the triumph of Anarchy. For with pomp to meet him came, Clothed in arms like blood and flame, The hired murderers who did sing, Thou art God, and Law, and King. “We have waited, weak and lone, For thy coming, Mighty One! Our purses are empty, our swords are cold, Give us glory, and blood, and gold.” Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd, To the earth their pale brows bowed Like a bad prayer not over loud, Whispering-”Thou art Law and God.” Then all cried with one accord, “Thou art King, and God, and Lord; Anarchy, to thee we bow, Be thy name made holy now!” And Anarchy, the skeleton, Bowed and grinned to every one, As well as if his education, Had cost ten millions to the nation. -- Shelley, "The Masque of Anarchy"
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