Villany,
An ELEGY on the Execrable Murder of
King CHARLES, I.
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THough to contemn all Laws Religion be,
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And though to be a Christians Heresie;
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Though it be a Crime for any to be good,
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And hes no Saint thats not Baptizd in blood.
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Though to be no Traitor Treason be,
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And to be Loyal be Disloyaltie,
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Though it be Justice Innocents to kill,
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And Meritorious Royal Blood to Spill,
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For which tis Death to greive; yet who but he,
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Twixt whom and Vertues an Antipathy,
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Such an unparalelld Butchery that hears,
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Does not resolve into a flood of tears,
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Which even unto Tyrants Urns are due, but when,
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The best of Princes and the best of Men,
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Thus slaughterd is, it claims from Loyal Eyes,
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Full Seas to wast him into Paradice,
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In Spite of Fate then pay this Tribute due,
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To him was yours and Vertues Soveraigne too,
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Nor let your Tears know bounds in such a fall,
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The Grief and Losse are Epidemical,
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You whose malicious Charitie at first,
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These Vipers hatcht these towring Serpents nurst,
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Let your much want of him instruct you in
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The greatness of his Loss and of your Sin,
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And let those Scorpions teach you the vast odds,
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Betwizt the Rule of Men and Reign of Gods,
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Unheard may you their Clemencie invoke,
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Uneasd, unpittyd bear your purchast yoake,
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As is your Reformation be your Peace,
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Since thus the Lands restord thus troubles cease,
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Deluded fools that with so vast expence,
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Have bought your Ruin, sold your Innocence,
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Contracting to your selves a guilt so high,
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Will damn your yet unborn Posteritie,
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These are your tender Conscience Men who dare
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To act, what others do with horrour hear,
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No more let bafled Historys now tell,
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How Caesar in the treacherous Senate fell,
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No more let France of Henrys Fate complain,
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This deeper dy makes pale that crimson staine,
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These, thy lost honour, Catiline, redeem,
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Whose foul designs now fair and pious seem,
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Thy modest wishes durst not aime so high,
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As such transcendent Acts of Villanie,
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The bashful plotters of this black design,
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To Ruin England with own Fatal Myne,
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So much the horror of their guilt did fright,
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They durst not Act without the Cloak of night,
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But these tryumphing Saints do glory in,
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As much the shew, as acting of their Sin,
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Nor shame to exhibite to the blushing Sun,
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A Sight neer seen since first his Race begun,
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The Murder of a Prince whose grand offence,
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Was Vertue and a settled Conscience,
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Nor doth his Death Suffice, our just Laws must:
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Pimp for these Caniballs in humain Lust,
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And Justice the Protectress of the Earth,
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Must be the Midwife to this Monstrous Birth,
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Thus while they seemingly would blot his Fame,
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They scandalize that most Religious Dame,
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A Court unheard of therefore thy Create,
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To make compleat their Antipodian State,
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Where Wolves (as grand delinquents) Lambs pre-sent,
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And Traytors do arraign the Innocent,
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Where Plutos Mercenaries do wrest the Laws,
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To make them serve a most prodigious cause,
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And belch from their blasphemous mouths, pretence
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Of crimes against his sacred Innocence,
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Replyes to it would spoyl the new Courts credit,
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All must be granted true because they sayd it,
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Wherefore they do provide he should not use
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Defence, t would criminate those that did accuse,
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But to determind Sentence they proceed,
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The frontless Pageant told him he must bleed,
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Necessitie requird that he should dye
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A victime to that upstart Deitie,
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Which blood carousing Idoll could not rest
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Content with any offring but the best,
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Though baited with such obloquies as laid
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Their hated Crimes upon his guiltless head,
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Though bold fact Treason had usurpt his Throne,
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And robd him off all Crowns save that alone,
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Of Martyrdom; though pride were grown so high,
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Hees still a King, preserves one Soveraigntie,
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No Rebel passion durst arise to bring
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Stains on his undeserving suffering,
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With meekness great as Innocence he dyes,
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A Royal and immaculate Sacrifice,
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No fear nor sorrow he, but twas for them,
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Deceiptful, proud, Ambitious, bloody Men,
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Nor could the last Act of this Tragedy
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Shake his inviolable Constancie,
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Nor his unconquerable Patience quell,
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Whose Charitie such injuries did excel,
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But what their guilt not suffred them to crave,
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His pardon he unsued too freely gave,
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Thus he orecame their malice and exprest
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Himself victorious although opprest,
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Yet does their Hell-bred fancy find no end,
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But would unto his memory extend,
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But Rebels do your worst, what you deny,
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His Fate contemning Vertues shall supply,
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And what already is become your shame,
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His glorious Death shall balme his wounded Name,
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Whose greatful memory shall as lasting be
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As time, or as your loathsome Infamy,
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Whose growing names equal to his shall rise,
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That turnd the Temple to a Sacrifice,
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Nor shall those Pyramids fall being built with good
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Mens bones, and clemented with guiltless blood,
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His Lustre nere shall fade but shine in spite,
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Of your contrived mists and Hellish night,
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Such Graces as were his are too divine
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For Lyes to spot or dark Cells to confine,
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The glorious Lamps a while deprivd of light,
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Breaks forth again and doth appear more bright,
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Aflicted Virtue so doth higher swell,
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And spyces bruisd yeild a more fragrant smell,
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You worthyly enslavd, see here your lot, (Londoners
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And bless you with the freedom you have got,
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But howere, that change can but small safty bring,
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Thats founded on the Ruin of a King,
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Whose worth to tell, in vain let any try,
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No Pen but his could write his Elegie.
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