Great BRITAIN'S Lamentation:  
Or, the Funeral Obsequies Of that most Imcomparable PROTESTANT PRINCESS, MARY of ever Blessed Memory, Queen of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland. Who Departed this Life the 28th. of December, at Kensington, 1694. In the 32th. Year of Her Age, she Reigned Five Years 8 Months and 17 days. And was conducted from whitehall to Westminster-Abby, in an open Chariot of State, on Black Cloth by the Nobility, Judges, and Gent●●y of the ●and on Tuesday the 5th. of March, 1694/5.  
 depiction of funeral procession of Queen Mary  

SHE●S gone alas! no more to be recalled,  
One single blow has all our Triumphs pall'd:  
Who can from Grief's Extremities refrain!  
Or in due Bounds the swelling Tide contain?  
Who can behold this dismal Scene pass by  
With an unmoved and unrelenting Eye?  
LONDON, Thou Pride and Glory of our Isle,  
Though in Thy Bosom both the Indies smile;  
Oh never forget that unauspicious Day,  
Which thy best Treasure rudely snatched away;  
Thy busy Change be for a season dumb,  
No saucy Mirth within thy Mansions come;  
Let all thy Sons in Mourning Weeds appear,  
Each Face show Sorrow, and each Eye a Tear,  
To express their Duty, let all Hearts combine,  
And on this Black, this sad Occasion join.  

Mourn drooping Britain, Mourn from shore to shore,  
Thy best beloved MARIA is no more.    

Ye Beauteous Virgins that in moving Strains  
Were used to sing her Virtues on the Plains:  
Ye Shepherds too, who out of Pious Care,  
Taught every Tree MARIA's Name to wear;  
Your Rural Sports and Garlands lay aside,  
This is no time for Ornaments of Pride;  
●nd let your Reeds, that lately tuned your joy,  
On the sad Willows now neglectedly:  
But bring, oh bring, the Treasures of your Fields,  
(That short-lived Wealth, which unbid Nature yields,)  
The Mourning Hyacinth inscribed with Woe,  
The beauteous Lilies that in Valleys grow;  
And all the Flowers that scattered up and down,  
Or humble Meads, or lofty Mountains crown;  
Then gently throw them all upon Her Hearse,  
To these join lasting Bays, and living Verse.  

Mourn drooping Britain, Mourn from shore to shore,  
Thy best belov'd MARIA is no more.    

Ye dauntless Hearts, that for your Country's good  
All Dangers scorn, and wade through Seas of Blood,  
In heavy silence, march around Her Tomb,  
And then Lament your own and England's Doom:  
For Death has by this single stroke done more,  
Than when Ten Thousand slain he stalks in gore.  
Ye pensive Widows, who by Fortune crossed  
In Foreign Fields have your dear Husbands lost;  
Now give a free and open vent to Grief,  
Banish all Hopes, and think of no Relief;  
That Bounteous Princess, who so justly knew  
What was to blooming Worth and Merit due,  
●ho as she loved on Valour still to ●●●…e,  
never failed to recompense the Soldiers Toil;  
〈◊〉 now, (malicious Fate would have it so)  
●urried, alas! to the dark Shades below.  

Mourn drooping Britain, Mourn from shore to shore,  
Thy best belov'd MARIA is no more.    

Ye Mitred Heads, and likewise you that wait  
Upon the Altar in a lower state,  
Bewail the Loss of so Divine a Prize,  
And open all the Sluices of your Eyes;  
With Gratitude Her Memory preserve,  
For She from true Religion ne'er it did swerve:  
Rome's gaudy Pomps Her Mind could not allure,  
Firm to the Word, and in Her Faith secure:  
The Sacred Scriptures were Her daily Care,  
He only Exercise and Food was Prayer:  
N●●mpty Joys Her Pious Breast employed,  
〈◊〉 ●he still dying lived, and living died.  
〈◊〉 ●●●re can ye now so great a Pattern find?  
〈◊〉 ●●●re can ye meet so bright, so pure a Mind?  

Mourn drooping Britain, Mourn from shore to shore,  
Thy best belov'd MARIA is no more.    

〈◊〉 though proud Fate has done her utmost spite,  
〈◊〉 buried all our Hopes in endless Night;  
Though ravenous Death has seized the richest Prey,  
That ever did a Regal Sceptre sway;  
Her Name shall Live, and still continue fair,  
Fragrant, as Rich Arabia's Spices are:  
While Albion in Triumphant State shall reign,  
Queen of the Isles, and Goddess of the Main.  
While silver Thames in wanton folds shall play,  
And Tribute to the British Ocean pay,  
While haughty Lewis shall remain abhorred,  
And William be by all the World adored.  
Our grateful Tongues Her Virtue shall proclaim  
Through all the distant Provinces of Fame:  
Still in our Hearts shall Pearless MARY Reign,  
Though dead, Her Station there she shall maintain.  
Then Shepherds leave at last your mournful Lays,  
And turn your Songs of Grief to Songs of Praise.    

Licenced according to Order.   

London: Printed for J. Whitlock near Stationers Hall. 1694/5. Price. 2 d.