Classic Poem

Frail multitude, whose giddy law is list.
And best applause is windy flattering;
Most like the breath of which it doth consist,
No sooner blown but as soon vanishing,
As much desired as little profiting;
That makes the men that have it oft as light
As those that give it; which the proud invite,
And fear: the bad man's friend, the good man's hypocrite.

It was but now their sounding clamours sung,
‘Blessed is he that comes from the Most High.’
And all the mountains with Hosanna rung;
And now, ‘Away with him-away!’ they cry.
And nothing can be heard but ‘Crucify!’
It was but now the crown itself they gave,
And golden name of King unto him gave;
And now, no king but only Caesar they will have.
It was but now they gathered blooming may.
And of his arms disrobed the branching tree,
To strow with boughs and blossoms all thy way,
And now, the branchless trunk a cross for thee,
And may, dis-mayed, thy coronet must be.
It was but now they were so kind to throw
Their own best garments where thy feet should go,
And now, thyself they strip, and bleeding wounds they show.