Sure its time that you put him to bed,
For the kingdom is seared by his fires, O fools;
He was Lord, and is dead.
You will hear not again his fine speaking,
His sophistry now as before
And the tone of his wonderful lying will
Humbug your senses no more;
By the party he ruled as his slave, is he
Slain who was mighty to slay;
And the stigma that rests on his name