Bleed, bleed, poor Country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs, The title is affeered!

For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One raised in blood and one in blood established; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; A base foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy.

I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears Decrease not, but grow faster than the years; And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth, That I should open to the list'ning air How many worthy princes' bloods were shed To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms And make pretense of wrong that I have done him; When all, for mine, if I may call offense, Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence; Which love to all, of which thyself art one, Who now reproved'st me for't--

This tyrant, whole sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest; you have loved him well; He hath not touched you yet.

O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed And does blaspheme his breed?

His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, Bur from deceit, bred by necessity; For how can tyrants safely govern home Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?