A groan AT THE funeral of that incomparable and Glorious MONARCH, CHARLES THE FIRST, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, &c.  
On whose Sacred Person was acted that execrable, horrid, and prodigious murder, by a traitorous Crew and bloody Combination at WESTMINSTER, Janury the 30. 1648.  
Written by I. B.  
Printed in the year, M. D.C.XL.IX.   

A groan.  

TO speak our griefs at full over Thy tomb  
(Great Soul) we should be thunderstruck, & dumb.  
The trivial offerings of our bubbling eyes  
Are but fair Libels at such Obsequies.  
When grief bleeds inward, not to sense, 'tis deep;  
W'have lost so much, that 'twere a sin to weep,  
The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his sums  
When his inevitable ruin comes.  
Our loss is finite when we can compute;  
But that strikes speechless, which is past recruit.  
W'are sunk to sense; and on the ruin gaze,  
As on a curled Comets fiery blaze:  
As earthquakes fright us, when the teeming earth  
Rends ope her bowels for a fatal birth:  
As Inundations seize our trembling eyes  
Whose rolling billows over kingdoms rise.  
Alas! our ruins are cast up, and sped  
In that black total— CHARLES is murdered.  
Rebellious giant hands have broke that Pole,  
On which our orb did long in Glory roll.  
That Roman Monsters wish in Act we see, 
Caligula.   
Three Kingdoms necks have felt the Axe in Thee.  
The Butchery is such, as when by Cain,  
The fourh Division of the world was slain.  
The mangled Church is on the shambles laid,  
Her Massacre is on thy block displayed.  
Thine is Thy people's epidemicke tomb:  
Thy Sacrifice a numerous hecatomb.  
The powder-mine's now fired: we were not freed,  
But respited by traitors thus to bleed.  
Novembers plots are brewed and broached in worse,  
And January now completes the Curse.  
Our Lives, Estates, laws, and Religion, All  
Lie crushed, and gasping at this dismal fall.  
Accursed Day that blottedest out our light!  
mayst Thou be ever muffled up in Night.  
At Thy return may sables hang the sky;  
And tears, not beams, distil from heaven's Eye.  
Cursed be that smile that guilds a Face on Thee,  
The Mother of prodigious villainy,  
Let not a breath be wafted, but in moans;  
And all our words be but articulate groans.  
May all Thy rubric be this dismal Brand;  
Now comes the miscreant doomsday of the Land.  
Good-Friday wretchedly transcribed; and such  
As horror 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 sublimed,  
That cannot by a parallel be rimed.  
Raviliack's was but under-graduate sin,  
And Gourney here a pupil Assassin.  
infidel wickedness, without the Pale!  
Yet such as justifies the cannibal.  
Riot apocryphal, of Legend breed;  
Above the Canon of a Jesuits Creed.  
Spirits-of-witch-craft! quintessential guilt!  
Hell's Pyramid! another Babel built!  
Monstrous in bulk! above our Fancies span!  
A Behemoth! a Crime Leviathan!  
So desperately damnable, that here  
Even Wild smells Treason, and will not appear.  
That Murdering piece of the new Tyrant-State,  
By whomed hath Shot black Destinies of late;  
He that belched forth the loyal Burleighs doom,  
Rocoyles at this so dreadful martyrdom.  
What depth of terror lies in that Offence,  
That thus can grind a seared Conscience!  
Hellish Complotment! which a League renews,  
Less with the men than th'Actions of the Jews.  
Such was their Bedlam Rabble, and the Cry  
Of Justice now, 'mongst them was crucify:  
Pilate's Consent is Bradshaw's Sentence here;  
The Judgement-hall's removed to Westminster.  
Hail to the Reeden sceptre; th'Head, and knee  
A●to'r aga●●e that Cursed pageantry.  
Th● 〈◊〉 ●rew in solemn pomp guard on  
〈◊〉 Maj●●● as not to th'Block, but Throne:  
The Belch agrees of those envenomed lies;  
There a Blaspemer, here a murderer dies.  
If that go first in horror, this comes next,  
A pregnant Comment on that ghastly Text.  
The heavens' ne'er saw, but in that tragic hour,  
Slaughtered so great an Innocence and power.  
Bloodthirsty tigers I could no stream suffice  
T'allay that Hell within your Breasts but This?  
Must you needs swill in Cleopatra's Cup,  
And drink the price of kingdoms in a sup?  
Cisterns of Loyalty have deeply bled,  
And now y'have dammed the royal Fountain Head.  
Cruel phlebotomy! at once to drain  
The Median, and the rich Basilick vein!  
The tinctures great that popular murder brings,  
'Tis scarlet-deep, that's died in blood of Kings.  
But what! could Israel find no other way  
To their wished Canaan than through This Red Sea?  
Must God have here his leading Fire and Cloud,  
And He be th'Guide to this outrageous Crowd?  
Shall the black Conclave counterfeit His hand,  
And superscribe Their Guilt, Divine Command?  
Doth th'ugly Fiend usurp a saintlike grace?  
And holywater wash the devil's face!  
Shall Dagons' Temple the mocked ark enclose?  
Can Esau's hands agree with Jacob's voice?  
Must Molech's Fire now on the Altar burn?  
And Abel's blood to Expiation turn?  
Is righteousness so lewd a Bawd? and can  
The Bibles Cover serve the Alcoran?  
Thus when Hel's meant, Religion's bid to shine;  
So Faux his lantern lights him to his Mine.  
Here, here is sins non ultra, when one Lie  
Kills This, and stabs at Higher majesty.  
And though His sleepy arm suspend the scourge,  
Nor doth loud blood in winged Vengeance urge:  
Though the soft hours a while in pleasures fly,  
And conquering Treason sing her lullaby.  
The guilt at length in fury he'll enrol  
With barbed Arrows on the traitorous soul.  
Time may be when that John-à Leyden King  
His Quarters to this tomb an offering bring,  
And that bemunstered Rabble may have eyes  
To read the Price of their dear Buttcheries.  
Yet if just Providence reprieve the Fate,  
The Judgement will be deeper, though't be late.  
and aftertimes shall feel the curse enhanced,  
By how much They've the sin bequeathed advanced.  
Mean time (most blessed shade) the loyal eye  
Shall pay her Tribute to Thy Memory.  
Thy aromatic Name shall feast our sense,  
'Bove balmy Spiknard's fragrant Redolence▪  
Whilst on Thy loathsome Murderers shall dwell  
A plague sore-blast, and rotten ulcers smell.  
Wonder of Men and goodness! stamped to be  
The Pride, and Flourish of all History.  
Thou hast undone the Annals, and engrossed  
All th'heroes' Glory which the Earth e'er lost.  
Thy privilege 'tis only to commence  
Laureate in Sufferings, and in Patience.  
Thy wrongs were 'bove all sweetness to digest;  
And yet thy sweetness conquered the sharp test:  
Both so immense, and infinitely vast,  
The first could not be reached, but by the last.  
Mean Massacres are but in death begun;  
But Thou hast lived an Execution.  
Close conffined up in a deceased Life;  
Hadst Orphan Children, and a Widow-Wife.  
Friends not t'approach, or comfort, but to mourn  
And weep their unheard plaints, as at Thy urn?  
Such black Attendants Colonied Thy Cell,  
But for thy Presence, Car'sbrooke had been Hell.  
Thus basely to be dungeoned, would enrage  
Great Bajazet beyond an Iron Cage.  
That deep indignity might yet have lain  
Something the lighter from a Tamerlaine.  
But here Sidonian Slaves usurp the reins,  
And lock the Scepter-bearing arms in chains.  
The spewed-up surfeit of this gluttonous Land;  
Honoured by scorn, and clean beneath all brand.  
For such a Varlot-brood to tear all down,  
And make a common football of the crown;  
T'insult on wounded Majesty, and broach  
The blood of Honour by their vile reproach.  
What royal Eye but Thine could sober see,  
Bowing so Low, yet bearing up so high?  
What an unbroken sweetness graced Thy soul,  
Beyond the world's proud conquest, or control!  
Maugre grim cruelty, thou keptest Thy Hold;  
Thy Thorny crown was still a crown of Gold.  
Chaste Honour Might enraged could ne'er deflower,  
Though others th'use, Thou claim'dst the Right of Power.  
The brave Athenian thus (with lopped-off Hands)  
A stop to swelling sails by's mouth commands. 
Cynegirus.   
New Vigour roused Thee still in Thy Embroyles,  
Antaeus-like, recruiting from Thy foils.  
Victorious fury could not terror bring,  
Enough to quell a captivated King.  
So did that Roman Miracle withstand 
Horatius. Cocles.   
Hetrurian shoals, but with a single hand.  
The Church in Thee had still her Armies; thus  
The World once fought with Athanasius.  
The gauntlet thus upheld; It is decreed,  
(No safety else for Treason) CHARLES must bleed.  
traitor and sovereign now inverted meet;  
The wealthy Olive's dragged to th'Brambles feet.  
The Throne is metamorphized to the bar,  
And despicable bats the Eagle dare.  
Astonishment! yet still we must admire  
Thy courage growing with Thy conflicts high.  
No palsied hands or trembling knees betray  
That Cause, on which Thy soul sure bottomed lay.  
So free and undisturbed flew thy Breath,  
Not as condemned, but purchasing a death.  
Those early Martyrs in their funeral pile,  
Embraced their Flames with such a quiet smile.  
Brave Coeur-de-Lyon soul, that wouldst not veil  
In one base syllable to beg Thy bail!  
How didst Thou blush to live at such a price,  
As asked thy People for a sacrifice!  
Th' Athenian Prince in such a pitch of zeal, 
Codrus.   
Redeemed his destined host, and commonweal;  
Who bribed his cheated Enemies to kill,  
And both their Conquest, and their conqunerour fell.  
Thus Thou our Martyr diedest: but Oh! we stand  
A ransom for another CHARLES his Hand.  
One that will write Thy Chronicle in Red,  
And dip His Pen in what Thy Foes have bled.  
Shall treasonous Heads in purple Caldrons drench,  
And with such veins the Flames of kingdoms quench.  
Then Thou at least at Westminster shalt be  
filled in the Pompous List of majesty.  
Thy Mausoloeum shall in Glory rise,  
And tears and wonder force from nephew's Eyes.  
Till when (though black-mouthed Miscreants engrave  
No Epitaph, but Tyrant upon Thy Grave.)  
A Vault of Loyalty shall keep Thy Name,  
An orient, and bright Olibian flame.  
On which, when time succeeding foot shall tread,  
Such Characters as these shall there be read.  
Here CHARLES the best of Monarchs butchered lies;  
The Glory of all Martyrologies.  
bulwark of Law; the church's citadel;  
In whom they triumphed once, with whom they fell:  
An English Solomon, a Constantine;  
Pandect of Knowledge, human and Divine.  
meek even 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 always one.  
Inviting Treason with a pardoning look,  
Instead of Gratitude, a Stab He took.  
With passion loved, that when He murdered lay,  
heaven conquered seemed, and Hell to bear the sway.  
A Prince so richly good, so blessed a reign.  
The World ne'er saw but once, nor can again.   

Scilicet, Humano generi Natura benigna  
Nil dedit, aut tribuet moderato hoc Principe majus  
In quo vera Dei, vivensque eluxit Imago:  
Hunc quoniam scelerata cohors vi●lavit, acerbas  
Sacrilego Deus ipse petet de Sanguine poenas  
Contemptumque sui Simulachri haud linquet inultum.  
Parodia ex Buchanani Geneth. Jacobi sexti.   
FINIS.