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To the King.
  
  
  
  
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98

To the King.

Great Charles, who full of Mercy, wouldst command
In Peace and Pleasure this his Native Land;
At last take pity of thy tottering Throne,
Shook by the Faults of others, not thine own.
Let not thy Life and Crown together end,
Destroy'd by a false Brother and a Friend.
Observe the danger that appears so near,
That all your Subjects do each minute fear:
One drop of Poison, or a Popish-Knife,
Ends all the Joy of England with thy Life.
Brothers, 'tis true, by Nature, should be kind;
But a too zealous and ambitious Mind,
Brib'd with a Crown on Earth, and one above,
Harbours no Friendship, Tenderness, or Love:
See in all Ages what Examples are
Of Monarchs murther'd by their impatient Heir.
Hard Fate of Princes, who will ne're believe,
Till the Stroke's struck which they can ne're retrieve.