An old, mad, blind, despis'd, and dying king,

Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow

Through public scorn--mud from a muddy spring,

Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,

But leech-like to their fainting country cling,

Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,

A people starv'd and stabb'd in the untill'd field,

An army, which liberticide and prey

Makes as a two-edg'd sword to all who wield,

Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay,

Religion Christless, Godless--a book seal'd,

A Senate--Time's worst statute unrepeal'd,

Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may

Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.