Arraigned he must be,
For that feloniously,
'Thout due solemnity,
He took a traitor.

John Bradshaw was his name,
How it stinks! how it stinks!
Who'll make with blacker fame
Pilate unknown.
This worse than worse of things
Condemn'd the best of kings,
And, what more guilt yet brings,
Knew 'twas his own.

Virtue in Charles did seem
Eagerly, eagerly,
And villainy in him
To vye for glory.
Majesty so compleat
And impudence so great
Till that time never met:-
But to my story.

Accusers there will be,
Bitter ones, bitter ones,
More than one, two, or three,
All full of spight;
Hangman and tree so tall,
Bridge, tower, and city-wall,
Kite and crow, which were all