The Tragedy of Doctor Lambe,
The great suposed Conjurer, who was wounded to death by Saylers
and other Lads, on Fryday the 14. of June, 1628. And dyed in the
Poultry Counter, neere Cheap-side, on the Saturday morning following.
To the tune of Gallants come away.
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NEighbors sease to mone,
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And leave your lamentation:
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For Doctor Lambe is gone,
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The Devill of our Nation,
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as 'tis knowne.
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A long time hath he lived,
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By cursed conjuration:
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And by inchantments thrived,
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While men of worthy fashion,
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have conived.
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The pranks that he hath played,
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(By the help o'th Devill)
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Are wondrous: but his trade
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And all his actions evill.
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at one time fade.
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The name of Doctor Lambe,
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Hath farre and neere beene bruted,
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The Devill and his dame
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So cuning were not reputed,
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sure I am.
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But now he's gone the way
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Thats fit for such a liver;
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To Hell I dare not say,
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Some judge so, howsoever:
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as well they may.
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For such a wicked wretch
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In England hath liv'd seldome,
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Nor never such a Wich,
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For his skill from Hell came.
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that made him rich.
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I neede name none on's feates,
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That are well knowne olready:
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But this my ditty treates,
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Of Doctor Lambe's Tragedy,
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my muse intreates,
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Your patience for a space,
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Whil'st I make his narration,
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That lived voyde of grace,
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And did in desperation
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end his race.
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The fourteenth day of June
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Which was upon a Friday,
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In the afternoone,
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We may count it a high day,
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for what was done.
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This man upon that day,
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As it is knowne for certaine,
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Went to see a play
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At the house cald Fortune:
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and going away,
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A crew of Sea-men bold,
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That went to see the action,
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Followed the Doctor old,
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And rose unto a faction,
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as 'tis tolde.
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Over the fields went he,
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And after him they follow'd
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His Devill could not free
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Him, for they whoop'd and holowd,
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till they see.
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The second part. To the same tune.
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HIm enter in a house,
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The Horshoe neere to More-gate,
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Where he did carouse,
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But they to him still bore hate,
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the story shewes.
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Assone as he had supt,
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Which was with half a pig there.
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This multitude abrupt,
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Said were a Devill as big there,
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they'd interrupt.
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His coming by his death,
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Some Prentises did ayde them,
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To take the Doctors breath,
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No fairemeans could perswad them,
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each one hath
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A resolution bent,
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To kill the English Devill,
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About which, at they went,
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Though I confesse that evill
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was their intent.
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With cudgels and with stones,
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The followd him with fury,
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To bruse and breake his bones:
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And just in the old Jury,
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all at once
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They beate him to the ground,
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And meaning to dispatch him,
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They gave him many a wound,
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The Devill could not watch him,
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to keepe him sound.
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They broke one of his armes,
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And yet they would not leave him,
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But did him further harmes,
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And still they bad him save him-
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selfe by's charmes.
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His scull in piteous wise,
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Was battered and brused,
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They put out both his eyes,
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So cursely then they used
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him, who spyes
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No rescue from his Spirits,
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That used to attend.
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So ill had beene his merits,
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That few men to defend,
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shew'd their mights.
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Now breefely to conclude,
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to 'th Counter he was carried
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By the multitude,
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Where all that night he tary'd,
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with blood imbrude.
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And then he did depart,
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In lamentable manner,
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Yet few are griev'd at heart,
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To heare of his dishonour,
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and his smart.
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Thus Doctor Lambe is dead,
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That long hath wrongd our Nation.
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His times accomplished,
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And all his conjuration,
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with him is fled.
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As his life was lude,
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Damnable and vicious:
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So he did conclude
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His life, and none propitious,
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pitty shew'd.
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FINIS. M.P.
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