I will not droop my soiled flag,
Nor turn a thought on my own shame,
Though it be sin without a name,
And smutted honour but a rag
There is a curve of Glo'ster plough
That I was born alone to show.

If I go down before my fear
Has limned that shape with subtle truth
Mine ending be a thing of ruth
And best forgot by honest men.
Come then, night's near with much undone
And Time's fine sand too swift doth run.