Among the heads that did the mass compose, Three royal skulls were there—one of a king— Meek saint, who never once revil’d his foes, His bloody foes that him to scaffold bring; One of a maid; O heaven! that I could sing With Spenser’s tongue, her spotless purity, Her holy zeal, in courts so rare a thing, By lawless fiends condemn’d she was to die, And sent, untimely sent, to seek her native sky. V. The third I marked with melancholy eyes, A female head, that once a crown did wear, Cut off in life’s full bloom, now low she lies, The loose loves weeping o’er her early bier, Nor Virtue’s self denies a tender tear; So young a creature, wonder not she fell, And left the paths of chastity severe, Debauched by a court where lust did dwell Like treach’rous Circe, skill’d in many a witching spell. VI. Ah! where are now her gorgeous robes of state, The glitt’ring gems that did her fairness deck? The cringing nobles that on her did wait, The high-born dames that kneeled at her beck? Alas! a ghastly face, a bloody neck, A simple winding-sheet is now her share; Look here, ye proud ones, on this mighty wreck, And learn what perishable stuff ye are, From her poor mangled carcase, once so sweet and fair. VII. And on the ground there lay a murder’d child, A piteous sight it was, and full of woe, Who, when alive, by every art defil’d, With poison, they at last did overthrow, Wretches, who never ruth or conscience know; O lovely flowret cropt by villain hands, How will thy butchers dread th’ almighty brow, Arm’d with frowns, when each at judgment stands, And God the meed of murder from His throne commands. VIII. Then o’er the portal was this motto plac’d, “The house of liberty,” in gold y’writ, And, vent’ring in, I stood like one amaz’d Such sights of horror on my heart-strings smit. There Infidelity, in moody fit, Hugg’d Suicide—there Rage, and deadly Fears, There Lechery, with goatish leer did sit, And Murder, quaffing up his victim’s tears, With thousand other crimes, too foul for human ears. IX. In ’mid the house an image stood in state, Like to VOLTAIRE in visage and in shape, Wither’d his heart with fellest rage and hate Shrivell’d and lean his carcase like an ape And numerous crowds upon the same did gape, As he all-naked stood to every eye; Above an altar covered with crape, And formed of his books one might descry, Profane and lewd it was, and cramm’d with many a lie. X.