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Whereon doth Oliver in sacrifice
To Nesroch offer us; whereon that chief,
So many years blest, doth to a king
Transform himself; whereon the serpent old,
Grown young again, eftsoon will change his skin!
Thereon he reckons to affirm his empire,
This counterfeit Zerubbabel in whom
Nimrod doth live again; this priest of hell,
This poisoner, who to his own base ends
Doth prostitute the church of God, and seeks,
In the dark schemes his pride doth aye contrive,
To make of the saints' spouse his concubine;
This foe of God, whom his own soul betrayed;
This man who is, in sooth, a greater knave
Than Shethar-Boznai!—Yon 's his unclean throne,
With curses overladen!—There it stands:
Six feet in height and nine in width, and all
With crimson velvet covered. Full ten bales
Were used to drape it thus.—'Tis not enough
For this usurping son of blasphemy
To wield a power stol'n from God himself;
To trample Israel like a dried reed;
And, greedy, grasping giant that he is,
Prone upon Europe, and more powerful
And threatening than Adonizebec,
To have beneath his table sixty kings,
Feeding upon the crumbs that fall therefrom!
No, he must have a throne. And such a throne!
A mass of fringes, satins, damasks, plumes,
Whereon the sculptor's art and lapidary's
Are joined, as of the lampad it was said!
And with this tinsel Cromwell would himself
Encompass round about.—Tinsel I say,
But 'tis good, honest gold,—ay, virgin gold
Of Hungary.—And yonder tassels, too,