Whilst murmurs ran through an insulted land, As if to sanction tyrants Heaven was bound, He proudly sought the ruin which he found. Twelve years, twelve tedious and inglorious years,[166] Did England, crush'd by power, and awed by fears, 480 Whilst proud Oppression struck at Freedom's root, Lament her senates lost, her Hampden mute. Illegal taxes and oppressive loans, In spite of all her pride, call'd forth her groans; Patience was heard her griefs aloud to tell, And Loyalty was tempted to rebel. Each day new acts of outrage shook the state, New courts were raised to give new doctrines weight; State inquisitions kept the realm in awe, And cursed Star-Chambers made or ruled the law; 490 Juries were pack'd, and judges were unsound; Through the whole kingdom not one Pratt was found. From the first moments of his giddy youth He hated senates, for they told him truth. At length, against his will compell'd to treat, Those whom he could not fright, he strove to cheat; With base dissembling every grievance heard, And, often giving, often broke his word. Oh, where shall hapless Truth for refuge fly, If kings, who should protect her, dare to lie? 500 Those who, the general good their real aim, Sought in their country's good their monarch's fame; Those who were anxious for his safety; those Who were induced by duty to oppose, Their truth suspected, and their worth unknown, He held as foes and traitors to his throne; Nor found his fatal error till the hour Of saving him was gone and past; till power Had shifted hands, to blast his hapless reign, Making their faith and his repentance vain. 510 Hence (be that curse confined to Gotham's foes!) War, dread to mention, Civil War arose; All acts of outrage, and all acts of shame, Stalk'd forth at large, disguised with Honour's name; Rebellion, raising high her bloody hand, Spread universal havoc through the land; With zeal for party, and with passion drunk, In public rage all private love was sunk; Friend against friend, brother 'gainst brother stood, And the son's weapon drank the father's blood; 520 Nature, aghast, and fearful lest her reign Should last no longer, bled in every vein. Unhappy Stuart! harshly though that name Grates on my ear, I should have died with shame To see my king before his subjects stand, And at their bar hold up his royal hand; At their commands to hear the monarch plead, By their decrees to see that monarch bleed. What though thy faults were many and were great? What though they shook the basis of the state? 530 In royalty secure thy person stood, And sacred was the fountain of thy blood. Vile ministers, who dared abuse their trust, Who dared seduce a king to be unjust, Vengeance, with Justice leagued, with Power made strong, Had nobly crush'd--'The king could do no wrong.' Yet grieve not, Charles! nor thy hard fortunes blame;