Coll. SIDNEY'S Lamentation and Last Farewell to the World.  
Being Condemned for High-Treason, in Conspiring the Death of His Sacred Majesty, and Royal Brother.  

NOw, now too weak, alas! I find our Cause,  
Toth' overruling Powers the King & Laws  
The force of our Impregnant Torrent's turned,  
The Plots and sham's of our Inventions scorned:  
Now I do fear what I could ne'er believe,  
Some Powers above doth all our Wits deceive;  
And laughs at our Assosiatious Vow,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

II.  
These Forty Years I've Reigned in Roguery,  
With kind success, 'gainst Lawful Monarchy;  
And now must my grey Head be overreached,  
And my stiff Neck by strength of halter stretched  
In the beginning Friends, it was not so,  
In Forty-One, now Forty Years ago;  
I feared not then no God, nor King, nor Law,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

III.  
On the late King I sat as Judge most stout,  
By virtue of our Senate, Rump, and Rout;  
Saw him condemned and Murdered at Whitehall  
His Sacred Blood doth now for Vengeance call:  
With his own Gold I did Command and fight,  
Against his Son, and all Successive Right;  
And ne'er repented yet, nor can I bow,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

IV.  
This King returned, which I with arms pursued  
With Tony I for Pardon did intrude;  
What e'er we asked his Grace did freely grant,  
Preferment too, which his best friends did want  
My pride in opposition still did show,  
A crooked Plant will never straighter grow;  
And now too late I grieve all would not do,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

V.  
With Tony, Grace, and Russel, I Conspired  
My Prince's death, and many thousands hired  
To Arm themselves in every Town and Shire,  
To Murder both this King and Lawful Heir,  
And lay it all upon the Papists backs,  
Which with the weight of our own Treason cracks;  
And for our Crimes, to murder them allow,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

VI  
We drawed in M—h to advance the Cause  
And made him Popular by Fool's Applause;  
We made his Soul swell big to be a King,  
When we alas! intended no such thing:  
Now all's Unravelled, both Cabals and Plot,  
My poor old Head must hang & go toth' Pot;  
Zounds I'd still Rebel did I know how,  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   

VII.  
At Oxford we were Rampant, overfed,  
The Tail was ten times stronger than the Head;  
Yet quite out-witted by too kind a King,  
Then we to Rumbolds House our Arms did bring  
Yet all was still prevented by strange Fate,  
Had I with Tony made a safe Retreat,  
Then Catch had ne'er held up my Traitorous jaw  
Poor Traitors! where's our Ignoramus now?   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Dean, in Cranborn-street, in Leicester-Fields, over-against Newport-House: 1683.