Those mighty souls, who bravely chose to die,
To have each a royal ghost their company.
Heroic act! and worth their tortures well,
Well worth the suffering of a double hell,
That, they felt here, and that below, they feel.
And if these cannot move you as they should,
Let me and my example fire your blood:
Think on my vast attempt, a glorious deed,
Which durst the fates have suffered to succeed,
Had rivalled hell's most proud exploit and boast,
Even that, which would the king of fates deposed.
Cursed be the day, and ne'er in time enrolled,
And cursed the star, whose spiteful influence ruled
The luckless minute, which my project spoiled;
Curse on that power, who, of himself afraid,
My glory with my brave design betrayed;
Justly he feared, lest I, who strook so high
In guilt, should next blow up his realm and sky;
And so I had; at least I would have durst,
And failing, had got off with fame at worst.
Had you but half my bravery in sin,
Your work had never thus unfinished been;
Had I been man, and the great act to do,
He had died by this, and been what I am now,
Or what his father is: I would leap hell
To reach his life, though in the midst I fell,
And deeper than before,———
Let rabble souls, of narrow aim and reach,
Stoop their vile necks, and dull obedience preach;
Let them with slavish awe (disdained by me)
Adore the purple rag of majesty,
And think 't a sacred relic of the sky:
Well may such, fools a base subjection own,
Vassals to every ass that loads a throne;
It was effected in the streets of Paris, where the assassin, taking advantage of a temporary stoppage, mounted the step, and, leaning into the carriage which contained the King and several of his suite, stabbed his majesty twice.
