That liv’d in Nero’s time: Oh how their cries
Would our perfidious Island shake, nay rend,
With clamorous screaks unto the Heaven send:
Oh how they’d blush to see our Crimson crimes,
And know the Subjects Authors of these times:
When as the Peasant he shall take his King,
And without cause shall fall a murthering him;
And when that’s done, with Pride assume the Chair,
And Nimrod-like, himself to heaven rear;
Command the People, make the Land Obey