The Weeping Lady:
OR,
The Fortune of WAR:
CONTAINING
Her Lamentation for the Loss of her Love,
A
Noble COMMANDER,
WHO
Was slain in the late Famous Battle of Landen, in Flanders.
To the Tune of, If Love's a sweet Passion.
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I Am an Unfortunate Lady this day!
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All my Glory is blasted and gone to decay;
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There is nothing but Clouds of black Sorrow appear,
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And the Tydings of Death which brings up the Rear:
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I have left my dear Jewel which I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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And here I am left to bemoan his sad Fate;
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At the Point of Despair, in a desperate State:
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There is none in the World now my Spirits can raise,
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Such a Torment I ne'r felt before in my days;
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Having lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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The Tydings was brought me, He fought in the Field,
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And when others gave back, he scorned to Yield;
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Till at length in his Breast he received a Wound,
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And with which he fell dead from his Horse to the Ground.
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Thus I lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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This Tydings was like to a desperate Dart;
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Is he gone! then I cry'd, with a Sigh from my Heart;
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And mine Eyes like two Fountains did streight overflow,
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For my Grief it was more than I could undergo;
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Having lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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In Battle there is no Distinction between
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The right valiant Commander, the Noble and Mean;
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In the Field by the force of a loud Cannon-ball,
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The Commander does with a poor Centinal fall.
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I have lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He was slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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Before he went from me I did him advise,
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Nay, I begg'd and intreated with tears in mine Eyes,
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That he'd not go to Flanders least he should be slain;
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But he vow'd he would venture while Life did remain.
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I have lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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The fortune of War has prov'd fatal to me,
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And to thousands and thousands of e'ry Degree;
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For the Fatherless Children and Widows may weep,
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While a Harvest of Sorrows with me they do reap;
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Who has lost me dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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His Warlike Deportment methinks I behold,
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When he shin'd in a Garb of imbroidered Gold,
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Nay, and mounted upon his bold Palfery-grey,
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At the head of his Troops as they marched away:
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But I lost that dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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O! that in the stead of my Dear I had dy'd,
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Or at least might have lain in the Grave by his side;
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It were better then languishing in Grief and complain;
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Though I weep I can never recal him again.
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I have lost my dear Jewel whom I did adore,
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He is slain in the Wars, I shall ne'r see him more.
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FINIS.
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