A FAITHFUL SUBJECT'S SIGH, ON The universally-lamented Death, and Tragical End, of that Virtuous and Pious PRINCE, our most Gracious Sovereign, CHARLES I.  
King of Great Britain, most Barbarously Butchered by His Rebellious Subjects.  
By a Gentleman now resident in the Court of Spain.  
Printed in the Year, 1649.   

CAROLUS STVARTUS, Scotus, Magnae Britanniae, REX.  
Anagramma.  
AGNUS CANIBUS Esus, Corona exaltatur, Martyr est.   

Chronogramma.  
CharLs 150 the true 5 Picture 106 of ChrIst 101 Crvcified 707,  
Great BrIttaIn's 2 VertVoVs 15 KIng 1 now 10 Glorified 552.   

A Faithful Subjects Sigh, etc.  

FAme speak it softly, in thy lowest tone,  
Else say He lives still; though (alas!) he's gone.  
Our King hath changed His Court for Heavens Whitehall,  
There He Reigns free, but here He lived in Thrall.  
To th'upper-house of Heaven for all His wrongs  
He now appeals, where no Tumultuous throngs  
Of Commons may Intrude for Justice calling;  
Which comes with vengeance on ye (Leave your bawling)  
And will commit you all to her Black-rod,  
Then Vote'gainst the Star-Chamber of your God;  
Bold, matchless villains, as ye have pulled down  
His Throne on Earth, and stamped upon His Crown.  
Old Time! I challenge thee to match but this  
Most horrid Treason, and from thy Abyss  
Of Monuments, and dark Lethaean Cell  
Where Monsters sleep, draw one to Parallel  
The English Rebel; rake Hell and extract  
From thy worm-eaten blind Records, an Act  
So black, so Hellish; as, when Charles now slain,  
Was passed by Subjects on a Sovereign:  
Time draw the Curtains of Antiquity,  
Show such a cruel bold impiety.  
But yet re-draw them, and strive to conceal  
Our shame, our wretched shame; oh don't reveal,  
How much our Gyant-Traytors have outwent  
And overgrown thy Pigmy-President.  
Oh for poor England's honour, let it not  
Be said the English should exceed the Scot  
In Treason and Disloyalty! that she,  
Who was heavens Condidate, should branded be,  
And stigmatised with such foul Infamy;  
That she, who for the lap of Gregory,  
Was Great with Angels once, should now disgrace  
Her former Births, thus with a spurious race  
Of Devils; Now what will be answered  
To those that ask me for thy Church's Head?  
Poor England! Now thy Head is Triumphant,  
Whilst that thy Church is truly Militant.  
Thou for thy Lucius, that wert so renowned,  
Mother to th' First baptised Monarch Crowned;  
Who forth ' First Christian wert Glorified,  
Un-Christian-like, thy King first Crucify'd.  
Thou to whose pious womb (like a rich mine)  
Teemed Christ's first Ensign-bearer, Constantine,  
The eldest Christian Caesar, shouldst now lie  
Impregnated within this cursed progeny  
Of Vipers; most true Vipers, that do knaw  
Their way to life through their poor Mother's maw:  
Nay, base unnatural worms, when borne, these sucked  
Her breast Heartblood out; left not till they plucked  
Their Mother's Head off. Where's St George? Appear  
For England now with thy victorious Spear,  
Against a Dragon ready to devour  
Thy bleeding Lady, quickly from its power;  
Redeem thy England, like her Champion,  
And kill this Hydra, nursed in Alcoran;  
That hath an hundred Heads, and from each spets  
'Gainst God himself, its loathsome venomed threats,  
Hath his Vicegerent slain, whom Innocent  
Of th'subtile wind of a Parliament;  
Which (like this monstrous Serpent's Tail) Him caught,  
Involved within its poisonous wreaths, and wrought  
By those false Treacherous foldings, and made-Laws  
Within the reach of those cursed Devils-claws,  
That now have Butchered Him. Oh with what face  
Can they impeach the sacred divine Grace  
Of so great Majesty, and not struck Blind  
With the bright rays thereof! as once we find  
Those Sodomitick troops were just so bent  
'Gainst those two Heavenly Courtiers to Lot sent;  
As now 'gainst this Angelic Hero, those  
Base Buggers of Freedom, Heaven's foes!  
How chance there flew not Fireballs from those Eyes  
(Those dread Celestial Torches) such vile Flies,  
Such swarms of Wasps and Beetles to reduce  
And scorch to Atoms, that durst to Accuse  
So Good, So Great a King? but what Damned Slave  
What Stygian Rascal was't the SENTENCE gave,  
And could condemn his PRINCE; nay, and to die  
By th'fatal Axe of Traitors, Publicly?  
Wonder ye heavens, the Earth clavae not asunder  
To swallow such a Judge! and through him under  
The Bench of Radamanthus, there to feel  
The vulture, Furies whip, Ixion's wheel,  
Whilst all the Hissing Convent of Hell pry,  
Amazed to see so strange a Prodigy;  
And blush, a Modern Rogue to come Behind.  
But could Threeheaded Cerberus, that black Fiend,  
That snarling Cur of Pluto's Kitchen, get  
On one of the Three snaky Sisters, yet  
So foul a Monster, as could dare to be  
The Actor of so dire a Tragedy:  
And put in Execution that Black Deed,  
Making his Gracious, Sacred Sovereign Bleed!  
O Yron-heart! O Rocky Soul! not reel  
With a Repentant Palsy, when the Steel  
He brandished o'er That Head! O cruel stroke  
That hath cut down Druina's Royal Oak;  
When the hard Axe wept Tears of Blood, and He  
That held it, Flinty-breasted unmoved See  
ne'er staggering at the Act! And could the Sun  
Still hold his journey, and not frighted run  
Behind the Clouds, there put on sable weeds,  
And from the East dispatch his Fiery steeds  
Back ward unto the West; withdraw his light,  
And in that Morn bid this dark World Goodnight!  
Or could Dame nature unrelenting keep  
Her constant course! 'Tis true she made Heaven weep  
In an abundant manner; for the Skies  
In Tears seemed to dissolve at's Obsequies.  
But no more show of Sorrow? 'Tis most strange  
Nature infringed thus, made no greater change;  
Shifting her weekdays Garments for His sake  
To put on mourning Robes; would she not take  
No Livery of Luto, nor vouchsafe to wear  
No badge of Grief, nor anger to cause fear  
In those remorseless villains, and to shake  
Their cruel Hearts with Terror, by Earthquake  
Or Blazing-Star, and Comet fiery red,  
To make those Dogs know whom they murdered?  
True, Grandam Nature, thou didst well resent  
Thy God our Saviour's Passion, thou didst rend  
The Temple's vale asunder, and didst split  
The vaults ofth ' Earth, which such an Ague fit  
Lay trembling in, that therewithal she waked  
The sleeping Ghosts, out of their dark Tombs shaked,  
To stand and wonder at that darker Night  
When thou hadst spread black curtains o'er the Light,  
To solemnize Christ's funer all rights; but know  
A Truer Symbol of our Christ then now  
ne'er suffered since; then surely for His sake  
Some lamentable change thou ought'st to make,  
O'er our most Gracious Sovereign now dead,  
By His own People (base Jews) Martyred:  
And 'twixt two Thiefs too, Crucified, which were  
The INDEPENDENT and the PRESBYTER.  
And as the Chief Priests and the Pharisees  
Held councel 'gainst our Saviour, so these  
Of our Sanhedrim with the Libertine,  
In such a Parliament did now combine  
'Gainst Christ's Anointed; where in vain they sought  
Him to surprise, till they Him also Bought,  
And Covenanted with the Scot for Gold,  
Who Judas-like, his Native Master sold.  
Then as the Dove in th' Talons of the Kite,  
Secured by's Rebels in the Isle of Wight:  
Where (as Christ in the Garden was) for Prayer  
Secluded, and devoted to prepare  
Himself, for th'hour He knew was drawing nigh  
To apprehend Him, they a Company  
Of Treacherous villains sent Him to betray,  
And by that Kiss of Treaty lead the way  
For them to gripe Him; then hired the loud cry  
Of th' Multitude, that should say, Crucify.  
Yet some of th' Jewish Jury could confess  
(Like Pilate) that they found their Lord Guiltless;  
Washing their hands, not hearts, saying they saw  
No fault in Him; but ye have made a Law  
(Said those dissenting Lords) whereby 'tis fit,  
We to your Swords, Him (and ourselves) submit:  
So His life He laid down, for th'sins of's Foes  
(Like Christ) for the peculiar faults of those  
That shed His Blood; who their good King accused  
Of th'self-same Crimes, wherewith they Him abused.  
In all things Christ's true Picture, and who dies  
So like's Redeemer, I dare Canonize.  
And for that Earthly Crown which here He bore  
(That Crown of Thorns so full of prickling Care,  
And sharp Afflictions) I dare aver this,  
He wears Martyrs one in Paradise.   
FINIS.