Classic Poem

This pile was raised by Wolsey's impious hands,
Built with the church's patrimonial lands.
Here bloody Henry kept his cruel court,
Hence sprung the martyrdoms of every sort.
Weak Edward here, and Mary the bigot,
Did both their holy innovations plot.
A fiercer Tudor filled the churchman's seat
In all her father's attributes complete.
Dudley's lewd life doth the white mansion stain
And a slain guest obscures a glorious reign.
Then northern James dishonoured every room
With filth and palliardism brought from home.
Next the French consort dignified the stews,
Employing males to their first proper use.
A bold usurper next did domineer,
Whirled hence by the angry demons of the air.
When sauntering Charles returned, a fulsome crew
Of parasites, buffoons, he with him drew;
Nay worse than these fill the polluted hall,
Bawds, pimps and pandars the detested squall
Of riots, fancied rapes, the devil and all.
This pious prince here too did breathe his last,
His certain death on different persons cast.
His wise successor brought a motley throng,
Despising right, strongly protecting wrong,
To these assistant herds of preaching cowls
And troops of noisy senseless fools.
Guerdon for this: he heard the dread command,
'Embark and leave your native land--'
He gone, the rank infection still remains,
Which to repel requires eternal pains.
No force to cleanse it can a river draw,
Nor Hercules could do it, nor great Nassau.
Most greedy financiers, and lavish too,
Swarm in, in spite of all that prince could do,
Projectors, peculates the palace hold,
Patriots exchanging liberty for gold,
Monsters unknown to this blessed land of old.
Heaven takes the cure in hand, celestial ire
Applies the oft-tried remedy of fire;
The purging flames were better far employed,
Than when old Sodom was, or Troynovant destroyed.
The nest obscene of every pampered vice,
Sinks down of this infernal paradise,
Down come the lofty roofs, the cedar burns,
The blended metal to a torrent turns.
The carvings crackle and the marbles rive,
The paintings shrink, vainly the Henrys strive,
Propped by great Holbein's pencil, down they fall,
The fiery deluge sweeps and swallows all.

But mark how providence with watchful care,
Did Inigo's famed building spare,
That theatre produced an action truly great,
On which eternal acclamations wait,
Of kings deposed, most faithful annals tell,
And slaughtered monarchs would a volume swell.
Our happy chronicle can show alone
On this day tyrants executed--one.