The wreched News of his more wretched Fate;
Curst Spawn of Schism! to give the fatal Shock,
Which sent a King a Martyr from the Block.
The barbarous Act, which smote his Royal Head,
Our Calendars shall ever die with Red;
To paint the Overthrow of th’ Church and State,
In the rebellious Times of Forty Eight.
My Muse, with the shrill Eccho of these Walls,
For Vengeance on the bloody Nation calls;
And weeps, till fruitful Albion is freed