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