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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