A PINDARIQUE ODE. ON THE MURDER OF King Charles the First, January the 30th 1648.  

I.  
MY Muse, join mournful Voice to mournful Strings,  
And play as mournfully as now you sing  
The last sad tragic Scene of our great martyred KING.  
All dark and gloomy was th' unhappy Day,  
and the unwilling Sun  
refused his daily Race to run,  
Nor the least Beam of Brightness would display;  
Black as the Tyrants Heart that did the Nation sway.  
We feared( and very justly too)  
That Heaven would pour all its Vials down,  
And sand worse Plagues than ever egypt knew,  
the wretched iceland to undo.  
the wretched Isle deserved to be  
digged up, and cast into the Sea  
For the dire Sin of its own Progeny.   

II.  
We've heard of the Calamities God sent down  
Upon Jerusalem, his own loved Town,  
What Plagues, what ruins, did ensue,  
What Blood, what Desolations, did pursue  
When they had crucified the Eternal King;  
Though that was richer Gore,  
Yet was the Guilt almost the same,  
Never any Sin  
Since that, of deeper die has been,  
Nor ever was before.  
When the Eternal Son of God did die,  
The Temple's Veil was rent,  
And fearful Signs and Wonders filled the Firmament;  
So when the horrid Blow was given,  
It frighted Earth, and startled heaven.  
In vain Astrologers their skill did try:  
all must in Chaos lie,  
When Rebels rule, and God-like Kings must die.   

III.  
Ah, cursed effects of Civil Wars!  
And lawless Lust, and impious Rage  
Of a rebellious, Factious Age.  
Thus did the Hands and Feet rebel,  
And 'gainst their Sovereign Head to Civil Discords fell,  
Reason deposed and gone,  
Lust straight usurped the injured Throne,  
and swore 'twould reign and rule alone:  
And what but ruin could be e're the Fate  
Of such a rude, ungoverned, head-strong State?  
Let, gracious Heaven, never more this Land  
Fall under the dire Vengeance of thy Hand;  
No more let Albion be the sport and shout  
Of all her Neighbours round about.  
Ah! wretched Albion, then they cried;  
Ah! wretched Albion, then the Gods and Men replied.   

IV.  
If it be true  
That from the Martyrs Blood the Churches Greatness grew,  
That for one slain  
Out of his Dust many should rise again;  
We see the mighty Sentence proved divine,  
What God-like Heroes sprung from Charles his Line,  
What God-like Phoenixes did re-aspire  
From out their Royal Father's Funeral Pyre?  
Just like the Sun after a storm,  
Such was the happy Entry of our KING,  
His Royal bounty smiled on every thing:  
( Out doing Heaven) Pardons he gave  
to every base rebellious Slave;  
Forgave his Father's Death and his own Sufferings.  
Kind Heaven has Albion happy made  
under the God-like Charles his shade,  
His Noon-tide Glories all shall rise,  
and mount before him to the Skies,  
Too high for any Polish, traitorous Policies:  
And Men shall envy us, and call  
The great Defender of our Faith, Defender of us all.   
FINIS.