A copy of Verses, said to be Composed by His majesty, upon His first Imprisonment in the Isle of Wight.  

IMprison me ye traitors! Must I be  
Your fettered Slave, whilst you're at liberty?  
T'usurp my sceptre, and to make my power  
Gnaw its own Bowels, and itself devour?  
You glorious villains! Treasons that have been  
Done in all Ages, are lived o'er again.  
Nimble Proficients! you have far outdone  
Your tutor's precedents; and have outrun  
The practice of all times: We see again,  
A second Cesar by a Senate slain:  
A State disturbed by th'gracchis; and the times  
Spawning with Sylla's and the Catiline's.  
The villainies, and Treasons, which of old,  
Time has for Incredulity enrolled,  
Are but mock-shews to yours, whose Acts will be  
Thought Legendary by Posterity.  
Was't not enough you made me bear the wrong  
Of a Rebellious Sword, and worser Tongue,  
To take my crown, State, Children, Friends, and Wife,  
But will you have my Liberty, and Life?  
'Cause I'll not sign, or give consent unto  
Those lawless Actions you have done, or do?  
Nor yet betray my Subjects, and so be  
As Treacherous to them as you to me?  
Mistaken fools! d'ye think my soul can be  
grasped, or infringed, by such low things as ye?  
And does the Coronet forget his own  
True Interest, to joynet to spurn the crown?  
Can they not see, when th'Oake's cut down, that all  
The clambering ivy down with it must fall?   

Subjects can have no safety but their graves,  
When Slaves do sway, and sovereigns are slaves.  
True hearts, I pity still, whose Sufferings,  
And Remedies are twisted with the Kings.  
Alas! though I'm injured, my mind's so free,  
I'll make my very gaol your Liberty.  
Plot, do your worst; I safely shall deride,  
In my crowned soul, your base, inferior pride,  
And stand unmoved, though all your plagues you bring,  
I'll die a Martyr, or I'll live a King.   
FINIS.