THE DUCHESS OF MONMOUTHS' Lamentation FOR THE LOSS Of Her DUKE: Who hath been long Absent, to the terror of Her Afflicted Heart.  
AH! Princely Jemmy, thou art too Unkind,  
To leave thy Mournful Duchess here behind;  
Unkind, I say, because thou well didst know,  
For thy dear sake, I through the World would go.  

I once did think none could more Happy be,  
Nor reap more Comforts in this World, than me,  
Now plunged into the Gulf of Misery.   
Too cruel Fate; that wrought this sudden change,  
And cause my Jemmy in the world to range;  
As if confined unto a Pilgrimage,  
Now in the flower and blossom of his age.  
But Fortune now I find doth fickle prove,  
And on a sudden did my Joys remove;  
Turning my comforts into Seas of woe,  
O Heavens! can I these sorrows undergo?  
Or can I live and bear this Mortal pain,  
To sigh and wish for Jemmy all in vain?  

No, no, it is impossible for me,  
Long to survive, except my Love I see;  
I faint my Dear, lo, here I die for thee.   
When in my Bed I lie I cannot sleep,  
While others take their ease I mourn and weep:  
'Twere better far for me, for to be Dead,  
Than for thine absence to be punished  

With endless torments which I do endure,  
Yea, past all hopes of any help or Cure;  
Enough to kill a mournful Woman sure.   
But for thine absence though I doth Condole,  
While thou art safe it comforteth my Soul;  
And should I hear that thou in Trouble wert,  
Without all question, it would break my heart.  
It is not long since my dear Jemmy's Name  
Was carried far and near, on wings of Fame;  
Which makes me wonder, that in such a trice,  
Thy virtues should be turned into vice;  
And all thine Honours with such hazard gained,  
Be quite forgot; how are thy Virtues stained  
With black ingratitude? if it be so,  
God and thy Conscience best the truth doth know;  
If not, what pity 'tis that thou shouldst be  
Accused of such gross Barbarity;  
Which wounds my Soul to think of, & mine eye  
When I thereof do pause, is never dry.  
Ah! hapless Woman, now thy Fate is cruel,  
To lose thy best and most beloved Jewel:  
What pleasure is there in the world to thee?  
Or wanting him, what can Delightful be?  
Oh! that I could but this advantage have,  
To sigh myself into the silent Grave;  
There to lie sleeping till Jehovah's Trump,  
Shall raise again my Putryfied Lump:  
When at God's Great Tribunal I might see  
My heart's delight, now gone and fled from me.  
But why do I thus like the Dove complain?  
Perhaps, in time, he may return again,  
For to complete my Bliss, which if he do,  
You Powers; how thankful shall I be to you!  
How should I strive your mercies to applaud,  
That did my Love prescribe, and keep abroad;  
When thundering Cannons did about him Roar,  
And I in fear my Love to see no more;  
Then, then, propitious Fate to him was kind,  
And sent him back to ease my troubled mind;  
So filled with Discontent, for fear that he,  
In whom my Soul delighted, slain should be.  
But at the last he home returned again,  
Which eased my heart, and banished all my pain.  
And when I thought myself from danger free,  
A further Cross was then attending me;  
Which now hath seized upon my tender heart,  
Oppressed with grief, I'm ready to departed  
Out of this sinful World, so full of change,  
That greatest Friends grow in a moment strange;  
And smiling Fortune in a trice will frown,  
Yea, from the height of Honour tumble down  
The world's great Favourites, that little think,  
The turns of Fate could ever make them sink.  
But ah! too well I to my sorrow know,  
And sad Experience doth acquaint me so;  
That there is nothing underneath the Sun  
That's stable, no, this, this hath me undone:  
Never was such a change in Europe known,  
As is in me, since my Delights are flown.  
But why do I thus prattle of Delights?  
My Sunshine Days are turned into Nights;  
And I in Darkness sit for to lament,  
The cause of which my Love from me was sent:  
A dreadful and inhuman Plot, some say,  
Was the occasion Jemmy went away;  
Which if it were, will add unto my trouble.  
And my poor heart will be afflicted double.  
O Heavens forbidden that e'er my Love should be,  
So Wicked as to act such Villainy!  
But if he were by Traitors thus drawn in,  
I hope you will forgive this deadly Sin.  
FINIS.   

Licenced and Entered according to Order.  
London, Printed by J. Millet, in the year 1683.