The King's speech!

And so as the days draw longer and all manner of creatures begin to emerge from their deep winter fast we should be looking toward long days spent under the summer sun that brings ease to our tired frames longing to purge the ague of a long damp winter. But this year as last and the one before I fear we cannot allow ourselves to dream of such simple joys. The dark clouds of war remain leaden and cast over my Kingdom as if tethered by an unseen shroud that neither man nor a great multitude of beasts can shift. Of late news has spread the length and breath of the Kingdom telling of a great battle fought at Bramham between the combined forces of my Nephew Prince Rupert, and my most loyal Lord’s Byron and Newcastle. Our forces won a great victory leaving the rebel forces under the Earl of Manchester and Fairfax cowering under a bush licking their wounds and so, I’m told asking Parliament to send furniture. What manner of soldiers are they to fight with a chair leg and a carpet beater? But in less mirth I hope with all my heart that we can bring a close to the unnecessary bloodshed of this war that only Parliament seems to want to wage. Were we could sit down with good counsel and resolve matter than that the future of the Kingdom be decided by brains beaten from a brow lying spilt in the furrows of some muddy field. My Lord Hopton has certainly had the better of his old friend Sir William Waller, and their struggle to which they are undeniably chained can only emphasise the struggle we all face, not only is our Kingdom wrenched apart by the fowl smell of saltpetre but friends and worse still families now live in fear of each other. But my greatest worry of all is that this war amongst friends will not bring peace to either fraction or our Kingdom to a greater place than that from which it left and no let there be no mistaking the real beneficiaries of this ungodly struggle will be the Scots. Every hour we fight as pugilists their hodden clad mass takes its toll, have they not raped and plundered their way through our northern most lands enough already? They say they know not whom they fight for, lest they be doing the bidding of this Parliament but if the truth be out we all know who they fight for. Themselves and that alone. Great Britons, rise up, let us not fall out amongst ourselves but unite and forget such squabbles as we have had over these last years, return to merry England with the sweet smell of roses and the cross o’ St George flying high. Unite us against this heathen mass that will not stop even once it has ripped our hearts from the bosom of our lands. Be assured of this, they mean to rape and pillage until there is none left on this island but their own. Together we stand strong, let us unite and stamp upon this troublesome thistle until it is broken. Parliament on your heads and in your hands alone be the wanton destruction of this Kingdom. The Oxford army and those that march with us are of greatest resolve more so than the tapsters and tradesmen free to drink their fill in the taverns of London reading of this war if it were a play and on whom you rely to be called soldiers. No sirs god is with us and should you choose to deny the rights of the Lord God then gentlemen on your hands alone be the destruction of this great nation. Our armies have weathered the storms of winter well. Or supporters grow in number as each longer day passes and we have enjoyed our merry walks across the fields of England keeping a watchful eye on those who would do Parliament’s bidding. But soone as that strengthening sun rises higher each day drying the mud and bakes it hard to rutted waggon ways then the guns will roll once more. Be afraid Parliament of god for in his infinite wisdom there is no doubt that cometh the hour, cometh the hour when the King shall enjoy his own again. But gentlemen we are friends, there is no need for such fighting talk let us lay down our arms bore against one and other and let us together throw back the hissing, spiting, vengeful Scottish manticore. For should you not bid this, my forces rise ever stronger in the west, in the north, in the far north where a thorn grows ever sharper and yet even closer to Parliament and I shall not bid my soldiers to stop until we knock on the very doors of the house itself and then gentlemen those that are most well shod having grown fat and rich through the needs of supplies to and the spoils of this war, then those gentlemen be best running the fastest away but I fear there are not enough fields in England for them to cross and yet make distance between those themselves and those that god favours." Charles I England, March 1644