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1Why I sit sighing here, ask me no more;
2My sacred sovereign’s thralldom I deplore.
Nemesis2(whom they pretend to adore),
4Put on thy sable blood-besprinkled gown,
5And thy o’erflowing vengeance thunder down
6On these usurpers of our
7They have his sacred person now in hold;
8They have their king, and country, bought and sold,
9And hope of glory, all for curséd gold.
10Then, seeing they Eternity thus slight,
Acheron’s4fierce issue them affright
12Till endless horror doth their souls benight.
13Then let our
Job-like5saint rise from the ground,
14For piety and patience so renowned,
15That for the best of kings he may be crowned.
16Then ask no more why I’m in tears dissolved,
17Whilst our good king with sorrow is
18To pray and weep for him I am