The Prophecy of J. Cooke, Solicitor General 1649

May the poor have a voice
Rising above the crest of arms
And sea of gold and title.


Sovereigns who claims their step
Sets upon the heads of their people,
Like a graceless fate, forsake Law.


To be held in silence,
Hidden from all eyes,
Is crime beyond terror.


It births the curses
Of torture, iniquity, and strife,
Nursing Imperium injurious.