Cromwell

God's servant, Milton's friend ! what higher praise
Can man attain who labors all his days ?
Protector of three realms ! a power was thine
Dangerous to hold, more dangerous to resign.
England proclaimed thee with her trumpet voice,
And England's will was ever Cromwell's choice.
Let weaker men, and weaker all men are,
How they would mount such eminence beware.
Outcast of his own slaves, one dared to mock
The voice of Truth... he rots upon a rock :
The vultures and the cormorants fly round
To feast upon a heart so long unsound.
Each says, " I am his kindred; and the least
He should bequeath me is a final feast,"

Cunning the wretch may be, but never wise,
Who thinks a head is safe that rests on lies.