Classic Poem

To what a formidable greatnesse growne
Is this prodigious beast Rebellion?
When Sov'raynty, and its so sacred law,
Thus lyes subjected to his tyranne awe?
And to what daring impudence hee growes,
When (not content to trample upon those)
Hee still destroy's all that with honest flames
Of Loyal love would propagate their names?
In this great ruine (Derby) lay thy fate,
(Derby unfortunately fortunate)
Unhappy thus to fall a Sacrifice
To such an irreligious pow'r as this,
And blest as 'twas thy nobler sence to dye
A constant Lover of thy Loyalty.
Nor is it thy calamity alone;
Since more lye whelm'd in this subvertion.
And first, the justest, and the best of Kings
(Roab'd in the glory of his sufferings)
By his too violent fate enform'd us all
What Tragick ends attended his great fall:
Since when his Subjects, some by chance of warr,
Some by perverted Justice at the barr
Have perisht: thus, what th' other leavs, this takes,
And whoso scapes the Sword falls by the Axe:
Amongst which throng of Martyrs none could boast
Of more fidelity, than the world has lost
In loosinge thee (when in contempt of spite)
Thy steddy faith at th' exit, crown'd with light
His head above their malice did advance,
They could not murther thy Allegiance:
Not, when before those Judges brought to th' test
Who (in the Symptomes of thy ruine drest)
Pronounc't thy Sentence: Basiliscks! whose breath
Is killinge Poyson, and whose lookes are Death.
Then, how unsafe a guard mans vertue is
In this false Age (where such as doe amisse
Controule the honest sort, and make a prey
Of all that are not villanous as they)
Does to our reasons eyes too playne appeare
In the mischance of this Illustrious Peere.
Blood-thirsty Tyrants of usurped state!
In facts of death prompt, and insatiate!
That in their flinty bosomes have no sence
Of manly honour; or of conscience;
But doe, since Monarchy lay drown'd in blood,
Proclaym 't by Act high treason to bee good:
Cease yet at last for shame; let Derby's fall,
Great, and good Derbye's expiate for all:
But if you will place your eternity
In mischeefe, and that all good men must dye;
When you have finish't there, fall on the rest,
Mix your sham'd slaughters with the worst, and best;
And to perpetuate your murthring Fame,
Cut your own throates, Despayre, and dye, and