Classic Poem

St ay Passenger: Behold and see
The widowed Grave of Majestie ,
Why tremblest thou? Here's that will make
All but our stupid souls to shake.
Here lies entomb'd the sacred dust
Of Peace and Piety , Right and Just.
The bloud (O start'st not thou to hear?)
Of a King , 'twixt hope and fear
Shed and hurried hence to be
The miracle of misery.
Adde the ills that Rome can boast,
Shrift the world in every coast,
Mix the fire of Earth and Seas
With humane spleen and practices,
To puny the records of time,
By one grand Gygantick crime,
Then swell it bigger till it squeeze
The Globe to crooked hams and knees,
Here's that shall make it seem to be
But modest Christianitie .
The Law-giver , amongst his own,
Sentenc'd by a Law unknown.
Voted Monarchy to death
By the course Plebeian breath.
The Soveraign of all command,
Suff'ring by a Common hand.
A Prince , to make the odium more,
Offer'd at his very door.
The Head cut off, O death to see't!
In obedience to the feet.
And that by Justice you must know,
If you have Faith to think it so.
We'll stir no further then this Sacred Clay,
But let it slumber till the Judgment day:
Of all the Kings on Earth, 'tis not denyed,
Here lies the first that for Religion dyed.