A Tragical SONG: OR, Mr. Wil Montfort, The Famous Actor Unfortunately Killed.  
Tune of Mary Live L●ng.  

GOod People draw near,  
And hear my sad Ditty  
With Hearts full of Pity,  
This Tragical Year  
Is bloody indeed:  
Some they fairly do fight,  
Others stabbed in the Night,  
as they do go home,  
Brave Montfort the Player,  
Brave Montfort the Player,  
He lately was one.   

His Name still will last  
In Court Town or Country,  
By Cits, or the Gentry,  
Till Ages are passed  
For Acts on the Stage;  
For in playing a Part,  
He excels the famed Hart,  
Or Moon that's dead too,  
Nay, no one that's living,  
Nay, no one that's living,  
Can Montfort outdo.   

His Carriage was such,  
In all Conversation,  
To be free from Passion,  
And never thought much  
To oblige any one;  
From a Lord to a Cit.,  
He was free with his Wit,  
And Courteous withal:  
But now alas Killing,  
But now alas Killing,  
Is used all in all.   

Each one does lament  
His death since lives shortened  
By bloody misfortune,  
And cries out amain  
Poor Montfort is gone,  
It is all o'er the Town,  
Was the like ever known,  
To use a man so,  
when coming to's Lodging,  
when coming to's Lodging,  
He should be run through.   

O cruel hard Fate,  
Since Murder's in fashion,  
With the English Nation,  
That men cannot scape,  
Being killed by the Sword;  
One can hardly pass by,  
But another does cry,  
Le's kill the next man.  
Some never will leave it,  
Some never will leave it,  
Until they be hanged.   

Here's Monfort of late,  
Tho young and beloved,  
How soon Life is moved,  
When malice or hate  
Shall once resolve Death,  
As he went without Light,  
He was run thro' that Night,  
And died the next day;  
So he that's Moon-blinded,  
So he that's Moon blinded  
May soon lo●se his way.    

London, Printed for Charles Barnes.