Classic Poem

I thinke not on the state, nor am concern'd
Which way soever that great Helme is turn'd,
But as that sonne whose father's danger nigh
Did force his native dumbnesse, and untye
The fettred organs: so here is a cause
That will excuse the breach of nature's lawes.
Silence were now a Sin: Nay passion now
Wise men themselves for merit would allow
What noble eye could see, (and carelesse passe)
The dying Lion kick'd by every asse?
Hath Charles so broke God's lawes, he must not have
A quiet crowne, nor yet a quiet grave?
Tombes have been sanctuaryes; Theeves lye here
Secure from all their penaltie and feare
Great Charles his double misery was this,
Unfaithfull friends, ignoble enemies;
Had any heathen been this prince's foe,
He would have wept to see him injur'd soe.
His title was his crime, they'd reason good
To quarrell at the right they had withstood
He broke God's lawes, and therefore he must dye,
And what shall then become of thee and I?
Slander must follow treason; But yet stay,
Take not our reason with our king away
Though you have seiz'd upon all our defence,
Yet do not sequester our common sense
But I admire not at this new supply:
No bounds will hold those who at scepters flye.
Christ will be King, but I ne're understood,
His subjects built his kingdome up with blood,
(Except their owne) or that he would dispence
With his commands, though for his owne defence.
Oh! to what height of horrour are they come,
Who dare pull downe a crowne, teare up a Tomb!