Blow, thou winds! Let not mercy check thy spite!
Lash, thou rains! Let despair be thy delight!
Let all the sky be cover’d up in clouds
That banish Day and bring in darkest Night!
Let festive flags be turn’d to dismal shrouds
And wan-hop’d woe o’erwhelm the wretched crowds!
Ye rough tornadoes, come! Transport the groom
In direful whirlings to some distant doom!
Spare not his bride; she too must be carried
By your ferocious gusts to fatal gloom,
For ‘tis just that they be killed, once married.
Strike then the brother; ensure he’s harried
By hellish hurricanes and grievous gales
Till a fortunate branch his breast impales.
Fall, hail, in monstrous crags of lethal ice,
And to pieces pummel the Prince of Wales!
Rage on, Heavens! E’en this will not suffice
While Camilla lives, and hath not paid the price,
Therefore be stern; with Antarctic blasts freeze
Her wicked veins and crack her wizened knees!
Next, to old Phillip turn thy mighty ire.
As he vainly shelters ‘neath barren trees,
Send from thy sky-forge scorching bolts of fire
Till serves his refuge as his fun’ral pyre.
Douse the corgis, stewards, guards and horses!
Sweep them away with torrential forces!
Unhonour’d guests then swiftly inundate –
O see with what brute pow’r the water courses!
Panick’d priests, each a currish reprobate,
Engulf in potent floods, and celebrate
Their slaughter with clashing peals of thunder.
Let the palace walls be blown asunder
Exposing thus the fiend of fearsome frown,
The tyrannick Queen, and dash her under
Mount’nous waves. Let that damnèd villain drown,
And consign to depths her accursèd crown.