King Charles I. (1600–1649)

GREAT Monarch of the world, from whose power springs

The potency and power of earthly kings,

Record the royal woe my suffering sings.

Nature and law by thy divine decree

(The only root of righteous royalty),

With this dim diadem invested me:

With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe,

The holy unction, and the royal globe;

Yet am I levelled with the life of Job.

The fiercest furies, that do daily tread

Upon my grief, my grey discrownèd head,

Are they that owe my bounty for their bread.

With my own power my majesty they wound,

In the King’s name the King’s himself uncrowned;

So doth the dust destroy the diamond.

They promise to erect my royal stem,

To make me great, t’ advance my diadem,

If I will first fall down, and worship them.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,

That in my absence they draw bills of hate,

To prove the King a traitor to the State.

Felons obtain more privilege than I;

They are allowed to answer ere they die:

’Tis death for me to ask the reason why.

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo

Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to

Such as Thou know’st do not know what they do.

Augment my patience, nullify my hate,

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;

Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State.