The following lyrics are from a broadside in the English Broadside Ballad Archive at The University of California, Santa Barbara:

Similar broadsides are in the Bodleian collection: Harding B 5(35), Harding B 5(36), Douce Ballads 3(25a)

England's Black Tribunal
Or, King Charles's Martyrdom.

TRUE Churchmen all, I pray behold & see,
Great Charles once England's king in misery
His suffering now I mean to tell,
How Britons did against their King rebel.

A court they made which they did justice call,
And there those traitors most tyrannical,
Of cruelty impeach'd the best of Kings,
Of murder, treason and such heinous things.

Basely they us'd the royal prisoner there,
He not being suffer'd truth for to declare,
It's strange says Charles a most surprizing thing,
You can't make laws now for to try your King.

Our court is just the president reply'd,
And by these laws, sir, now you must be try'd,
For against the lords and commons of this land,
It's not for prisoners to dispute and stand.

Then said the King I think my case is hard,
Worse than the malefactors I am serv'd,
For they have liberty to plead their cause;
Why don't you grant me the true British laws.

Consider first I'm your annointed King,
Take heed, lest judgment on this land you bring
For if the lord's appointed you do slay,
Take care you don't repent the bloody day.

In vain did speak this Prince of Royal Blood,
His words indeed they did but little good,
For by those bloody tyrants he was cast,
Charles Stuart, you must loose your head at last

As he pass'd down stairs, the soldiers base,
Did smoke tobacco in his royal face,
Spitting upon him as he did pass by,
Forgive them, Christ, forgive them he did cry.

It is no more than what my saviour dear,
Did suffer for poor sinful mortals here,
If thus the King of Heaven they did kill,
What is my blood to his, which they did spil.

My earthly crown I freely down do lay,
Although they thus do take my life away,
I hope a crown of glory to obtain,
Forever with the blest above to reign.

I now do suffer for a cause that's good,
For the protestant laws I always stood,
But when my head they from my body take,
Christ keep the church for thy dear mercy's sake.

Then he did beg his children for to see,
It being granted then that liberty,
Those that in England being present there,
To see their dying father did repair.

When the lady Elizabeth did her father see,
She trembling fell before him on her knee,
Having the D[u]ke of Gloucester in her hand,
Rise, says the King, before your father stand.

Behold dear child, the King to her did say,
Great Charles who once did England's Scepter sway
Is try'd and cast, upon the block to dye,
Not knowing of the cause or reason why.

O royal father said the Princess then,
What will become of us when you are gone,
If they've the heart to slay our father dear,
I fear our deaths are drawing very near.

If I could die upon the block for thee,
Death would be but a little unto me;
But I must live to see my father bleed,
O cruel tyrants you who do the deed.

O child! when I am gone, the King reply'd,
You have a God for to stand on your side,
I hope he will preserve the Stuart's race,
So heaven bless and mark you all with grace.

Then taking of the Duke of Gloucester young,
Upon his knee which was his youngest son;
Said he dear child, I give this charge to thee,
That to your brother you obedient be.

It is your brother Charles that I do mean,
You must call him your sovereign lord and King,
For they will cut off thy dear father's head,
The babe then wept for to hear what he said.

Then who must be my father said the child,
The lord of heaven said the King and smil'd,
With that the child upon his neck did fly,
Saying father let us both together die.

This kind expression of a child so young,
It caus'd the tears like fountains for to run,
A thousand times he kiss'd his children dear,
And on his knees with them fell down to prayers.

And blessing of them took his last farewell,
Saying with your father things will soon do well;
Next to the block this Martyr was convey'd,
At his own Palace gate to loose his head.

How can the Presbyterians bear to hear,
How patiently he did his sufferings bear;
How freely he his earthly crown did leave,
In hopes a crown of glory to receive.

In Windsor Chapel there his corps was laid,
When the Lord Bishop of London was deny'd,
At the funeral to read the common prayer,
A thing his royal master lov'd so dear.

Thus fell the Church as likewise fell the King,
O cruel Presbyterians I am sure this thing,
Can never be forgot, the bloody day,
On which your royal master, ye did slay.

We never more will put it in your power,
The Church of England up for to devour;
Heaven preserve the Church likewise the State,
And keep it from the Presbyterians cruel hate.


LONDON: Printed and Sold by R. COSTER, at No. 14, Hosier-Lane, West-Smithfield.