The frenchman's Lamentation for the Great loss of their Noble General Mounsieur de Turenne.  
Who was killed by a Cannon, Shot from a party of the Emperor's Army, which lay in Ambuscade in a Wood, and shot him in the breast, where he Died Immediately, and his Lieutenant was then Killed by him, which was on the 23 of July 1675. Mounsieur Turenne being then in the 64th. Year of his age, and had been Marshal of France just half his time, being 32 years.  
To the Tune of, A fig for France and Holland too.  
 

OF honour and renown i'll sing,  
All generous heart's assistance bring,  
The Son of Mars, a Warrior brave,  
By a great Shot brought to his Grave;  
Death durst not meet him in the field,  
But unawares did make him yield,  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,  
Turenne no more is to be found.    

The French man's glory now is dead,  
Before whom thousand troops have fled,  
He never was afraid to die,  
In greatest dangers scorned to fly;  
But bravely would maintain the fight,  
Till all his foes were put to flight,  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to, etc.    

Fate envies that so brave a Soul,  
Should their decrees so long control,  
For from his birth this brave Turenne,  
Full sixty four years had seen,  
He idly did not spend his time,  
Nor wantonly did waste his prime;  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to, etc.    

At thirty two just half his age,  
His Enemies he did engage,  
That Monarch great the King of France,  
Him to a Marshal did advance;  
Which place he kept unto his death,  
And bravely fought to his last breath,  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,  
Turenneno more is to be found.    
 

THe enemy in ambush lay,  
On purpose his life to betray.  
For they had planted in a Wood,  
Two Cannons which did spill his blood;  
They knowing that he would come there,  
Lay lurking as if nothing were,  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,  
Turenne no more is to be found.    

They saw him marching without harm,  
Did thunder him a fierce alarm,  
The first shot without hurt passed by,  
Fearing such valour to come nigh,  
But as it happened that came there,  
To give him warning to prepare.  

Let Drums, etc.    

The other Gun with iron filled,  
The noble Mounsieur quickly killed.  
So many pieces came together,  
They flew like hail in stormy weather;  
Some of them could not choose but kill,  
And execute their masters will,  

Let Drums, etc.    

Into his breast the shot than flew,  
And instantly the Warrior slew,  
His brave Lieutenant died by his side  
Scorning that Fate should them divide:  
They who together drew their breath,  
Were true companions in their death;  

Let Drums, etc.    

The news was posted to the King,  
Which did to him much sorrow bring,  
So brave a Subject had he none,  
His fame through all the world was known:  
His memory will never die,  
Although his bones in dust do lie:  

Let Drums, etc.    

His valour made his foes to creep,  
And sent them to eternal sleep,  
Not only courage was his praise,  
But policy his fame did raise,  
All which joined with success did crown,  

Turenne with honour and renown.  
Let Drums, etc.    

A prop he was unto the Crown,  
No foes could beat his courage down,  
His Master's cause he did defend,  
And faithful was unto the end;  
But now alas, he's dead and gone,  
His equal there he has left none.  

Let Drums, etc.    

Let him that reads this understand,  
'twas written by an English hand,  
True valour must be praised though he,  
That has it proves an enemy;  
France now in mourning does appear,  
Having left him whom they loved so dear;  

Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,  
Turenne no more is to be found.     

〈…〉