TO ſpeak our Griefes at full over thy Tombe
(Great Soul) we ſhould be Thunder-ſtruck and dumbe:
The triviall Off'rings of our bubling eyes
Are but faire Libels at ſuch Obſequies.
When Grief bleeds inward, not to ſenſe, 'tis deepe;
W'have loſt ſo much, that t'were a ſinne to weep.
The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his ſummes,
When his inevitable ruine comes:
Our loſſe is finite when we can compute;
But that ſtrike ſpeechleſſe, which is paſt recruite.
W'are ſunk to ſenſe; and on the Ruine gaze,
As on a curled Commets firie blaze:
As Earth-quakes fright us, when the teeming earth
Rends ope her bowels for a fatall birth;
As Inundations ſeize our trembling eyes;
Whoſe rowling billowes over Kingdomes riſe.
Alas! our Ruines are caſt up, and ſped
In that black Totall — Charles is Murthered.
Rebellious Gyant hands have broak that Pole,
On which our Orbe did long in Glory roule.
That Roman Monſters wiſh in act we ſee,Caligula.
Three Kingdomes necks have felt the Axe in Thee,
The Butcherie is ſuch, as when by Caine,
The fourth Deviſion of the world was ſlaine.
The mangled Church is on the ſhambles lay'd,
Her Maſſacre is on thy Block diſplay'd,
Thine is thy peoples epidemick Tombe,
Thy Sacrifice a num'rous Hecatombe.
The Powder-mine's now fir'd; we were not freed,
But reſpited by Traytours thus to bleed.
Novembers plots are brew'd and broach'd in worſe,
And January now compleats the Curſe.
Our Lives, Eſtates, Lawes, and Religion, All
Lie cruſh'd, and gaſhing in this diſmall fall.
Accurſed day that blotted'ſt out our Light!
May'ſt thou be ever muffled up in Night.
At thy returne may fables hang the skie;
And teares, not beames, diſtill from Heavens Eye.
Curs'd be that ſmile that guildes a Face on thee,
2 The Mother of prodigious Villanie.
Let not a breath be wafted, but in moanes;
And all our words be but articulate groanes.
May all thy Rubrick be this diſmall Brand;
Now comes the miſcreant Doomes-day of the Land.
Good-Friday wretchedly tranſcrib'd; and ſuch
As Horrour brings alike, though not ſo much.
May Dread ſtill fill thy minutes, and we ſit
Frighted to think, what others durſt commit.
A Fact that copies Angels when they fell,
And juſtly might create another Hell.
Above the ſcale of Crimes; Treaſon ſublim'd,
That cannot by a parallell be rim'd.
Raviliack's was but under-graduate ſinne,
And Goury here a Pupill Aſſaſſin.
Infidell wickedneſſe, without the Pale;
Yet ſuch as juſtifies the Canniball.
Ryot Apochyphall of Legend breed;
Above the Canon of a Jeſuites Creed.
Spirits of witch-craft; quinteſſentiall guilt;
Hels Pyramid; another Babell built.
Monſtrous in bulke; above our Fancies ſpan;
A Behemoth; a Crime Leviathan.
So deſperately damnable, that here
Ev'n Wild ſmels Treaſon, and will not appeare.
That Murdering-peece of the new Tyrant-State,
By whom't hath Shot black Deſtinies of late;
He that belched forth the Loyall Burleighs doome,
Recoyles at this ſo dreadfull Martyrdome.
What depth of Terrour lies in that Offence,
That thus can grind a ſeared Conſcience?
Helliſh Complotment! which a League renewes,
Leſſe with the men, then th' Actions of the Jewes.
ſuch was their Bedlane Rabble, and the Cry
Of Juſtice now, 'mongſt them was Crucifie:
Pilates Conſent is Bradſhawes Sentence here;
The Judgement hall's remov'd to Weſtminſter.
Hayle to the Reeden Scepture the Head, and knee
Act o're againe that Curſed Pageantrie.
The Caitiffe crew in ſolemne pompe guard on
Mock'd Majeſtie as not to th' Block, but Throne,
3 The Belch agrees of thoſe envenom'd Lyes;
There a Blaſphemer, here a Murd'rer dyes.
If that go firſt in horror, this comes next,
A pregnant Comment on that gaſtly Text.
The Heav'ns ne're ſaw, but in that Tragick howre,
Slaughter'd ſo great an Innocence, and Power.
Bloud-thirſty Tygers! could no ſtreame ſuffiſe
T'allay that Hell within your Breaſts but this?
Muſt you needs ſwill in Cleopatra's Cup,
And drinke the price of Kingdomes in a ſup?
Ciſterns of Loyalty have deeply bled,
And now y'have damm'd the Royall Fountaine Head.
Cruell Phlebotomie! at once to draine
The Median, and the rich Baſilick veine:
The tinctures great that popular murther brings,
'Tis ſcarlet deep, that's dy'd in bloud of Kings.
But what! could Iſrael find no other way
To their wiſh'd Canaan than through the Red Sea?
Muſt God have here his deading Fire and Cloud,
And he be th' Guide to this outragious Crowd?
Shall the black Conclave counterfeit his hand,
And ſuperſcribe their Guilt, Divine Command?
Doth th'ugly Fiend uſurpe a Saint-like grace?
And Holy-water waſh the Devils face!
Shall Dagons Temple the mock'd Arke incloſe?
Can Eſau's hands agree wth Jacob's voyce?
Muſt Molech's Fire now on the Altar burne?
And Abel's bloud to Expiation turne?
Is Righteouſneſſe ſo lewd a Bawd? and can
The Bibles Cover ſerve the Alcoran?
Thus when Hel's meant, Religion's bid to ſhine
As Faux his Lanterne lights him to his Mine.
Here, here is ſins non ultra, when one Lie
Kils this, and ſtabs at Majeſtie.
And though his ſleepie Arme ſuſpend the ſcourge,
Nor doth loud Bloud in winged Vengeance urge,
Though the ſoft houres a while in pleaſures flie,
And conquering Treaſon ſing her Lullabie.
The guilt at length in fury he'l inroule
With barbed Arrows on the trayt'rous Soule.
Time may be when that John-à-Leyden King
4 His Quarters to this Tombe an Offring bring,
And that Be-Munſter'd Rabble may have eyes
To read the Price of their deare Butcheries.
Yet if juſt Providence reprieve the Fate,
The Judgment will be deeper, though't be late.
And After-times ſhall feel the curſe enhanc'd,
But how much They've the Sinne bequeath'd, advanc'd.
Meane time (moſt bleſſed ſhade) the Loyall eye
Shall pay her Tribute to thy Memorie.
Thy Aromatick Name ſhall feaſt our ſenſe,
'Bove balmie Spiknard's fragrant Redolence,
Whilſt on thy loathſome Murderers ſhall dwell
A plague-ſore, blayne, and rotten ulcers ſmell.
Wonder of Men and Goodneſſe! ſtamp'd to be
The Pride, and Flouriſh of all Hiſtorie.
Thou haſt undone the Annals, and engroſs'd
All th'Heroes Glory which the Earth e're loſt.
Thy Priviledge 'tis onely to commence
Laureate in Sufferings, and in Patience.
Thy wrongs were 'bove all ſweetneſſe to digeſt;
And yet thy ſweetneſſe conquer'd the ſharp teſt:
Both ſo immenſe, and infinitely vaſt,
The firſt could not be reach'd, but by the laſt.
Meane Maſſacres are but in death begun;
But Thou haſt Liv'd an Execution.
Cloſe coffin'd up in a deceaſed Life;
Had Orphan Children, and a Widow-Wife.
Friends not t'approach, or comfort, but to mourne
And weep their unheard plaints, as at thy urne?
Such black Attendants Colonied thy Cell,
But for thy Preſence, Car'ſbrooke had been Hell.
Thus baſely to be Dungeon'd, would enrage
Great Bajazet beyond an Iron Cage.
That deep indignity might have layne
Something the lighter from a Tamerlaine.
But here Sidonian Slaves uſurp the Reines,
And lock the Scepter-bearing Armes in chaines.
The ſpew'd-up ſurfeit of the glut'nous Land;
Honour'd by ſcorne, and cleane beneath all brand.
For ſuch a Varlet-Brood to teare all downe,
And make a common Foot-ball of the Crowne.
5T'inſult on wounded Majeſty, and broach,
The bloud of Honour by their vile reproach.
What royall eye but thine could ſober ſee,
Bowing ſo low, yet bearing up ſo high?
What an unbroken ſweetneſſe grac'd thy Soule,
Beyond the world, proud conqueſt, or controule?
Maugre grim cruelty, thou keepſt thy hold;
Thy thornie Crowne was ſtill a Crowne of Gold.
Chaſt Honour, Might enrag'd could ne're defloure,
Though others th' Uſe, Thou claim'dſt the Right of Power.
The brave Athenian thus (with lopp'd-off Hands)
A ſtop to ſwelling ſayles by's mouth commands.
New Vigour rouz'd Thee ſtill in thy Embroyles,
Antaeus-like, recruiting from the Foyles.
Victorious fury could not terrour bring,
Enough to quell a captivated King.
So did that Roman Miracle withſtand
Hetrurian ſhoales, but with a ſingle hand.
The Church in thee had ſtill her Armies; thus
The World once fought with Athanaſins.
The Gantlet thus upheld; It is decreed,
(No ſafety elſe for Treaſon) Charles muſt bleed.
Traytor and Soveraigne now inverted meet;
The wealthy Olive's dragg'd to th' Brambles feet.
The Throne is metamorphiz'd to the Barre,
And deſpicable Batts the Eagle dare.
Aſtoniſhment! yet ſtill we muſt admire
Thy courage growing with thy conflicts high'r.
No palſied hands or trembling knees betray
That Cauſe, on which thy ſouls fure bottom'd lay.
So free and undiſturbed flew thy Breath,
Not as condemn'd, but purchaſing a death.
Thoſe early Martyrs in their funerall pile,
Embrac'd their Flames with ſuch a quiet ſmile.
Brave Coeur-de-Lyon Soule, that would'ſt not vayle
In one baſe ſyllable to beg thy Bayle!
How didſt thou bluſh to live at ſuch a price,
As ask'd thy People for a ſacrifice?
Th' Athenian Prince in ſuch a pitch of zeale,
Redeem'd his deſtin'd Hoaſt, and Common-weale;
Who brib'd his cheated Enemies to kill,
6 And both their Conqueſt, and their Conquerour fell.
Thus thou our Martyr died'ſt: but oh! we ſtand
A Ranſome for another Charles his Hand.
One that will write thy Chronicle in Red,
And dip his Pen in what thy Foes have bled.
Shall Treas'nous Heads in purpule Caldrons drench,
And with ſuch veines the Flames of Kingdomes quench.
Then thou art leaſt at Westminſter, ſhall't be
Fil'd in the Pompous Liſt of Majeſtie.
Thy Mauſalaeum ſhall in glory riſe,
And Teares, and wonder force from Nephews Eyes.
Till when (though black-mouth'd Miſcreants engrave)
No Epitaph, but Tyrant, on thy Grave.
A Vault of Loyalty ſhall keep thy Name,
An orient, and bright Olibian flame.
On which, when times ſucceeding foot ſhall tread,
Such Characters as theſe ſhall there be read.
Here CHARLES the beſt of Monarchs, butcher'd lies;
The Glory of all Martyrologies.
Bulwark of Law; the Churches Cittadell;
In whom they triumph'd once, with whom they fell:
An Engliſh Salomon, a Conſtantine;
Pandect of Knowledge, Humane and Divine.
Meek ev'n to wonder, yet of ſtouteſt Grace,
To ſweeten Majeſty, but not debaſe.
So whole made up of clemency, the Throne
And Mercy-ſeat to Him were alwayes one.
Inviting Treaſon with a pardoning look,
Inſtead of Gratitude, a ſtab He took.
With paſſion lov'd; that when He murd'red lay,
Heav'n conquered ſeem'd, and Hell to bear the ſway.
A Prince ſo richly good, ſo bleſt a Reigne,
The world n'ere ſaw but once, nor can againe.