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 choke  
it leads to high places  
as Slip'ry as Glasses,  
Their gilded pretences all vanish like smoke.  
Their fatal delusion  
Brought me to confusion  
I fall by those Powers I did justly provoke.   

Those Men of Sedition  
that nursed my Ambition  
And soothed up my Fancy with hopes of a Crown  
their fares are depending▪  
and must have an Ending,  
'Tis they ruined 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 seduced to the Sin  
true Churchmen denied me  
the Gentry defyd me,  
With none but the Factious I favour did win  
this sorrowful sentence  
brings me to Repentance  
Unfortunate 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 spoiled without Pity,  
The King's 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 Babble  
and noise of the Rabble,  
It pleased meat first and did Nourish the Vice  
'Twas Pride and Vainglory  
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 snared 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 Rank to me did bow  
but I've taken ill measures  
and lost all those Treasures  
Poor Monmouths thy Case is altered now.   

Ambition can't borrow  
One day, e'er to morrow  
Poor Monmouth must lie in the silent dark Grave:  
let his sad conclusion  
be Traitor's Confusion  
And dash them to Pieces as Rocks do the Waves,  
take warning you Traitors  
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 Pie-corner.