On receiving news of the death of Charles I

Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate

My grief with thy too rigid fate,

I'd weep the world in such a strain

As it should deluge once again.

But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies

More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,

I'll sing thine obsequies with trumpet sounds

And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds.