On the Earl of Strafford's Trial and Death

Great Strafford! worthy of that name, though allOf thee could be forgotten, but thy fall,Crush'd by imaginary treason's weight,Which too much merit did accumulate.As chemists gold from brass by fire would draw,Pretexts are into treason forged by law.His wisdom such, at once it did appearThree kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms' fear;Whilst single he stood forth, and seem'd, althoughEach had an army, as an equal foe.Such was his force of eloquence, to makeThe hearers more concern'd than he that spake;Each seem'd to act that part he came to see,And none was more a looker-on than he;So did he move our passions, some were knownTo wish, for the defence, the crime their own.Now private pity strove with public hate,Reason with rage, and eloquence with fate:Now they could him, if he could them, forgive;He's not too guilty, but too wise, to live:Less seem those facts which treason's nickname bore,Than such a fear'd ability for more.They after death their fears of him express,His innocence and their own guilt confess.Their legislative frenzy they repent,Enacting it should make no precedent.This fate he could have 'scaped, but would not loseHonour for life, but rather nobly choseDeath from their fears, than safety from his own,That his last action all the rest might crown.

Toll, toll,Gentle bell, for the soulOf the pure ones in Pole,Which are damn'd in our scroll.

Who having felt a touchOf Cockram's greedy clutch,Which though it was not much,Yet their stubbornness was such,

That when we did arrive,'Gainst the stream we did strive;They would neither lead nor drive;

Nor lendAn ear to a friend,Nor an answer would sendTo our letter so well penn'd;

Nor assist our affairsWith their moneys nor their wares,As their answer now declares,But only with their prayers.

Thus they did persistDid and said what they list,'Till the Diet was dismiss'd;But then our breech they kiss'd.

For whenIt was moved there and then,They should pay one in ten,The Diet said, Amen.

And because they are bothTo discover the troth,They must give word and oath,Though they will forfeit both.

Thus the constitutionCondemns them every one,From the father to the son.

But John(Our friend) MollessonThought us to have outgoneWith a quaint invention.

Like the prophets of yore,He complain'd long before,Of the mischiefs in store,Ay, and thrice as much more;

And with that wicked lie,A letter they came byFrom our King's majesty.

But fateBrought the letter too late,'Twas of too old a dateTo relieve their damn'd state.

The letter's to be seen,With seal of wax so green,At Dantzig, where 't has beenTurn'd into good Latin.

But he that gave the hint,This letter for to print,Must also pay his stint.

That trick,Had it come in the nick,Had touch'd us to the quick;But the messenger fell sick.

Had it later been wrote,And sooner been brought,They had got what they sought;But now it serves for nought.

On Sandys they ran aground,And our return was crown'dWith full ten thousand pound.

Our resident Tom,From Venice is come,And hath left the statesman behind him;Talks at the same pitch,Is as wise, is as rich;And just where you left him, you find him.

But who says he was notA man of much plot,May repent that false accusation;Having plotted and penn'dSix plays, to attendThe farce of his negotiation.

Before you were toldHow Satan the oldCame here with a beard to his middle;Though he changed face and name,Old Will was the same,At the noise of a can and a fiddle.

These statesmen, you believe,Send straight for the shrieve,For he is one too, or would be;But he drinks no wine,Which is a shrewd signThat all's not so well as it should be.

These three, when they drink,How little do they thinkOf banishment, debts, or dying?Not old with their years,Nor cold with their fears;But their angry stars still defying.

Mirth makes them not mad,Nor sobriety sad;But of that they are seldom in danger;At Paris, at Rome,At the Hague, they're at home;The good fellow is no where a stranger.