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.
Nice! Nay excellent! Now say it thrice! Wordsmith you.
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