Sir Walter Rauleigh his lamentation:
Who was beheaded in the old Pallace at Westminster the 29.
of October. 1618. To the tune of Welladay.
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C Ourteous kind Gallants all,
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pittie me, pittie me,
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My time is now but small,
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here to continue:
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Thousands of people stay,
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To see my dying day,
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Sing I then welladay,
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wofully mourning.
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Once in a gallant sort
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lived I, lived I.
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Belov'd in Englands court
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graced with honours:
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Sir Walter Rauleighs name
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Had then a noble fame:
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Though turned now to shame
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through my misdoing.
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In youth I was too free
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of my will, of my will,
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Which now deceiveth me
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of my best fortunes:
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All that same gallant traine
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Which I did then maintaine,
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Holds me now in disdaine
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for my vaine folly.
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When as Queene Elizabeth
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ruld this land, ruld this land,
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I trode the honord path
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of a brave Courtier:
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Offices I had store,
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Heapt on me more and more,
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And my selfe I in them bore
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proud and commanding.
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Gone are those golden dayes,
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woe is me woe is me:
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Offences many waies
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brought unto triall,
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Showes that disloyaltie
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Done to his Majestie,
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Judgeth me thus to dye;
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Lord for thy pitie.
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But the good graces here
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of my King, of my King,
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Shewd to me many a yeere
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makes my soule happie
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In that his royall Grace
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Gave me both time and space
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Repentance to embrace:
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now heaven be praised.
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Thirteene years in the tower
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have I lien, have I lien.
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Before this appoynted houre
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of my lives ending:
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Likewise such libertie
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Had I unluckily,
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To be sent gallantly
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out on a voyage.
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But that same voyage then
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prov'd amis prov'd amis,
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Many good gentlemen
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lost their good fortunes:
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All that with me did goe
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Had sudden overthrow
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My wicked will to shew
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gainst my deere Countrey.
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When I returned backe,
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hoping grace, hoping grace,
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The tower againe alacke
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was my abiding:
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Where for offences past,
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My life againe was cast
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Woe on woe followed fast
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to my confusion.
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It plea'sd my royall King
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thus to doe, thus to doe,
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That his peeres should me bring
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to my lives judgement.
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The Lieutenant of the tower
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Kept me fast in his power,
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Till the appointed houre
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of my remooving.
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The Second Part .
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T O Westminster then was I
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garded strong, garded strong
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Where many a wandring eye
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saw me convayed
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Where I a Judgment had,
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for my offences bad,
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Which was to loose my head,
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there the next morning.
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So to the Gatehouse there,
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was I sent, was I sent,
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By knights and gentlemen,
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guarding me safely,
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Where all that wofull night,
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My heart tooke no delight:
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Such is the heavie plight
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of a poore prisoner.
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Calling then to my mind,
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all my joyes, all my joyes,
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Whereto I was inclind,
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living in pleasures:
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All those dayes past and gon,
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Brings me now care and mone,
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Being thus overthrowne,
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by mine own folly.
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When the sad morning came
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I should die, I should die:
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O what a fright of shame:
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fild up my bosome:
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My heart did almost breake,
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when I heard people speake,
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I shold my ending make
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as a vile traitor.
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I thought my fortunes hard,
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when I saw, when I saw
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In the faire pallace yard
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a scaffold prepared:
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My loathed life to end:
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On which I did ascend.
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Having at all no friend
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there to grant mercy.
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Kneeling downe on my knee,
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willingly, willingly,
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Prayed for his Majustie
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long to continue:
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And for his Nobles all.
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With subjects great and small,
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Let this my wofull fall
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be a fit warning.
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And you that hither come
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thus to see, thus to see
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My most unhappy doome
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pittie my ending.
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A Christian true I die:
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Papistrie I defie,
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Nor never Atheist I
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as is reported.
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You Lords & knights also
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in this place, in this place
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Some gentle love bestow
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pity my falling:
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As I rose suddenly
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Up to great dignitie,
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So I deservedly
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die for my folly.
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Farewell my loving wife
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woe is me, woe is me:
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Mournefull wil bee thy life,
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Left a sad widdow.
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Farewell my children sweet,
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We never more shall meet
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Till we each other gr[ee]t,
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blessed in heaven,
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With this my dying knell
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willingly, willingly,
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Bid I the world farewell
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full of vaine shadowes
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All her deluding showes
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brings my heart naught but woes
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Who rightly feeles and knowes.
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all her deceivings.
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Thus with my dying breath
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doe I kis, doe I kis,
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This axe that for my death
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here is provided:
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May I feele little paine,
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when as it cuts in twaine,
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what my life must sustaine
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all her deceivings.
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My head on block is laid,
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And my last part is plaid:
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Fortune hath me betraid,
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sweet Jesus grant mercy.
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Thou that my headsman art,
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when thou list, when thou list,
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Without feare doe thy part
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I am prepared:
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Thus here my end I take
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farewel world, farewel world,
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And my last will I make,
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climing to heaven:
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For this my offence,
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I die with true penitance,
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Jesus recieve me hence:
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farewell sweet England.
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