Saturday, 5 November 2011

The Popish Plot

Under the hallowed halls
the noble band had hid
cask on cask of powder
as stalwart Fawkes had bid.
The morn before King James
came to address his Lords
they crept unseen through darkest gloom
most unaware of their fell doom
down narrow ways unto that room
where waited men with swords.

To deeds extreme Fawkes had been led
by agents of the Crown,
who sought full long,
through shire and town,
some hapless man who’d loose his head
when he had carefully been fed
a silly, hopeless plan.

“Alas, we are found out!”
cried Fawkes, full of alarm.
“We are betrayed! Flee if you can!”
as he did spy the harm
that waited in the form of men
intent to thwart his naïve plot
to kill the King, the royal Scott,
and so to end the state’s foul rot
that stank as stagnant fen.
The brave souls were beat down
and trampled under foot
their hands were bound,
their necks were bent
their hope was from them cut.
They were brought forth in day’s sad ray
their love for Pope and slight of King
made plain for all the folk to see:
and they did anthems sing!

Unto a gallows tree
the plotters were soon brought
and they did dangle most merrily
as of the Earth their feet came short.
The people did rejoice
and tell with glee full keen
how good it was that popish plot
had wisely foilèd been.

And now we labour hard
’neath traitors’ iron hand
(of Whiggish temperament
who of their ill will not relent)
and hanker after that good Guy
who would have downcast tyranny
and set fair justice on the seat
so all might have what’s meet.

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