 |
 | On the most horrid and terrible treason |  |
1
On the most Horrid and Terrible Treason, the unparalelled Parracide, Committed upon the Sacred Person, of the High and Mighty PRINCE CHARLES By the Grace of God KING of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, &c. By a base crue of cursed Conspirators.
All-seeing Eye! and dost thou yet withhold
Thy Thunder-bolts? when slaves are grown so bold;
In prosperous wickednesse, (which hath disjoynted,
Both Church and State) to touch thine own Anointed?
To kill thy Great Vice-gerent, and knock down
Thy sacred Image headles, trod his Crown
And Honour in the dust? that Crown that stood
Vpon Old Fergus stock, glu'd with the blood
Of Pikes and Romanes, Danes, so fast, that ne'er,
A stranger's sword, it from that Race could tear,
Till in Time's fulness, from a vast decree,
What could not be by warre, by peace might be;
And the too long divided Albion,
Was by Heaven's blessing turn'd to Al-be-one.
Durst Hell then hatch a Treason to cast down,
What Heaven had rais'd? is Westminster now grown
A den of Devils? and they all unchain'd,
In licenc'd Rage? and wroung with force maintain'd,
To waste that little world; which happie late,
Was t'others envy, for her peacefull state.
Durst any eye behold that black desaster,
To see a pack of dogges devour their Maister?
Did the Sunne see it and not burn the Citie?
Nor Thames wash't quite away? O shame! O pittie!
Did not Earth open to the lowest hell
And swallow up these monsters? dare Fame tell
That storie unto Time? that England saw
Her King brought to a Scaffold? and the law
Wash't out by Villanes, with the Royall blood,
Of blessed CHARLES, a KING so just so good?
A KING whose mercie pardon'd hath so many,
Whose meeknes never yet was matcht by any!
Whose pietie and zeall had never peer,
Whose soul was spotles, and his conscience clear.
A King whose vertues made his life a wonder;
And patern to all Princes, so brought under;
By sacrilegious Sectaries and Knaves?
Sure 'tis a fable, and the sick world raves
In saying so; or if so bee indeed,
That Britaine in those Royall veines doth bleed,
The cry from Heaven a vengeance will draw down,
In all the dwellers blood the land to drown;
And raise in just revenge all neighbour lands
To make a Red Sea where now Britaine stands.
Thy Thunder-bolts? when slaves are grown so bold;
In prosperous wickednesse, (which hath disjoynted,
Both Church and State) to touch thine own Anointed?
To kill thy Great Vice-gerent, and knock down
Thy sacred Image headles, trod his Crown
And Honour in the dust? that Crown that stood
Vpon Old Fergus stock, glu'd with the blood
Of Pikes and Romanes, Danes, so fast, that ne'er,
A stranger's sword, it from that Race could tear,
Till in Time's fulness, from a vast decree,
What could not be by warre, by peace might be;
And the too long divided Albion,
Was by Heaven's blessing turn'd to Al-be-one.
Durst Hell then hatch a Treason to cast down,
What Heaven had rais'd? is Westminster now grown
A den of Devils? and they all unchain'd,
In licenc'd Rage? and wroung with force maintain'd,
To waste that little world; which happie late,
Was t'others envy, for her peacefull state.
2
To see a pack of dogges devour their Maister?
Did the Sunne see it and not burn the Citie?
Nor Thames wash't quite away? O shame! O pittie!
Did not Earth open to the lowest hell
And swallow up these monsters? dare Fame tell
That storie unto Time? that England saw
Her King brought to a Scaffold? and the law
Wash't out by Villanes, with the Royall blood,
Of blessed CHARLES, a KING so just so good?
A KING whose mercie pardon'd hath so many,
Whose meeknes never yet was matcht by any!
Whose pietie and zeall had never peer,
Whose soul was spotles, and his conscience clear.
A King whose vertues made his life a wonder;
And patern to all Princes, so brought under;
By sacrilegious Sectaries and Knaves?
Sure 'tis a fable, and the sick world raves
In saying so; or if so bee indeed,
That Britaine in those Royall veines doth bleed,
The cry from Heaven a vengeance will draw down,
In all the dwellers blood the land to drown;
And raise in just revenge all neighbour lands
To make a Red Sea where now Britaine stands.
Rouse up young CHARLES, thy Father's ghost doth call;
The Heavens will fight for thee, earth, sea, and all;
Fear not, thy quarrell's just, the Lord of Hostes
Will lead thee on, a Conqueror, to these coasts,
Which smoake with his hot blood, who gave Thee breath,
And yet will make Thy sword revenge his death.
True Britaines, you whose soules were never tainted
With treasons thought, whose hearts have bled and fainted
To see your Sovereign wronged, the Church defaced,
Your Nobles banished that His cause embrac'd,
Show now yourselves or be for ever slaves,
Since Heaven and Earth of you this duty craves.
All Christian Kings, your heads lie at the stake,
If your proud subjects here example take;
Then for your safety, in this PRINCE'S cause
Arme Legions, Rig your Ships, make Neptune's jawes
In foamy billowes, blast out fire and flame,
To crush that Hydra, from whose bowells came
The poysoned breath that killed that noble KING;
With whose renown, Earth's furthest clymates ring.
And that your Armey may have the wish'd successe,
Heaven's guide our Charles, and your endeavours blesse.
Lord pour out all the vialls of thy wrath
On those damn'd Traytours doom'd their King to death.
The Heavens will fight for thee, earth, sea, and all;
Fear not, thy quarrell's just, the Lord of Hostes
Will lead thee on, a Conqueror, to these coasts,
Which smoake with his hot blood, who gave Thee breath,
And yet will make Thy sword revenge his death.
True Britaines, you whose soules were never tainted
With treasons thought, whose hearts have bled and fainted
3
Your Nobles banished that His cause embrac'd,
Show now yourselves or be for ever slaves,
Since Heaven and Earth of you this duty craves.
All Christian Kings, your heads lie at the stake,
If your proud subjects here example take;
Then for your safety, in this PRINCE'S cause
Arme Legions, Rig your Ships, make Neptune's jawes
In foamy billowes, blast out fire and flame,
To crush that Hydra, from whose bowells came
The poysoned breath that killed that noble KING;
With whose renown, Earth's furthest clymates ring.
And that your Armey may have the wish'd successe,
Heaven's guide our Charles, and your endeavours blesse.
Lord pour out all the vialls of thy wrath
On those damn'd Traytours doom'd their King to death.
G. L.
| On the most horrid and terrible treason | |