THE late Duke of Monmouth's Lamentation.
The Tune of, On the Bank of a River, Or; Now now the Fights done.
THe World is ungrateful
the People deceitful,
Ambition and Pride our first Parents did choak
it leads to high places
as Slip'ry as Glasses,
Their gilded pretences all vanish like smoak.
Their fatal delusion
Brought me to confusion
I fall by those Powers I did justly provoke.
Those Men of Sedition
that nurst my Ambition
And sooth'd up my Fancy with hopes of a Crown
their fares are dependingâ–Ş
and must have an Ending,
'Tis they ruin'd me and my former renown
Seducers of Reason
Made me commit Treason
For which on the Block I lay my head down.
My Grief I discover
For those I brought over,
And those in this Land I seduc'd to the Sin
true Churchmen deni'd me
the Gentry defyd me,
With none but the Factious I favor did win
this sorrowful sentence
brings me to Repentance
Vnfortunate Monmouth this Act to begin.
The Second Part,
To the same Tune.
THus my Allegiance was all disobedience
the King of the West in those Parts they me call,
Each Village and City
was spoil'd without Pitty,
The Kings better Subjects I brought into Thrall:
But now such vile doing
hath caused my ruin
My Pride and Ambition must now have a Fall.
The popular Bable
and noise of the Rabble,
It pleas'd meat first and did Nourish the Vice
'Twas Pride and Vain-Glory
did furnish the Story
And gave to my after proceedings the Rise
while that I did aspire
t' fly higher and higher,
Like th' generous Bird I was snar'd in a trice.
All did me admire
naught I could require,
But the Royal Bounty did freely allow
was of Royal standing
had all at commanding
And men of the highest Ranck to me did bow
but Iv'e taken ill measures
and lost all those Treasures
Poor Monmouth's thy Case is alter'd now.
Ambition can't borrow
One day, e're to morrow
Poor Monmouth must lye in the silent dark Grave:
let his sad conclusion
be Traytors Confusion
And dash them to Pieces as Rocks do the Waves,
take warning you Traytors
and all you Crown Haitors
Your cunning designs your Heads shall not save.
This may be Printed
July 18.
R. I. S
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner.