Measurement of Pain

This true tale begins long ago,

  When France's Louis XV reigned as King;

A tyrant, grief he bestowed,

  Upon the peasants, poverty he flings.

A mad man, named Robert Francois Damien,

  Sought to end this misery,

A knife he did wield, plunged into the King's abdomen,

  His mark slighted, yet unfortunate his gallantry.

For the monarch sentenced far more pain

  Than the fugleman or madman

Has endured, or human eyes have seen,

  As an eyewitness wrote the agony tale's assassin.

That morn the madman was pierced with hot forceps,

  The executors poured boiling oil upon his wounds,

And followed the King's precepts,

  Strident screams matched that of a wolf to a moon.

His limbs were slashed off one by one

  By four wild horses in the Place de Greve;

As witnessing eyes did not shun

  Yet, awed in disbelief.

Two stallions whipped to their deaths

  For reprieve of vengeance,

Hours were sought for two fresh colt's breath

  To agonize death's resurgence.

Joviality entered the crowd

  Who applauded this torturous death,

Eyes smirked in scowl,

  His hair whitened as nine hours bequeath.

A King's wish and nothing less,

  Triumphantly his power carried out,

His pawns faithfully bliss,

  Kill, with little refrain of doubt.