Of the troopers of Cromwell, he utters these words:
“‘Beware of the cockatrice—trust not the wiles
Of the serpent, for perfidy skulks in its folds!
Beware of Lord Broghill the day that he smiles!
His mercy is murder!—his word never holds!
“Remember, ’tis writ in our annals of blood,
Our countrymen never relied on the faith
Of truce, or of treaty, but treason ensued—
And the issue of every delusion was death!’
“He died on the scaffold in front of those walls,