THE
Sorrowful Lamentation,
OF,
Sr. John Fenwick's Lady,
For the Fatal Condemnation,
OF HER
Loving Husband.
The Tune of, the Duke of Monmouth.
|
NOw the fatal tryal's ended;
|
Condemnation now is past,
|
And with Sorrows he a[t]tended,
|
Has receiv'd his doom at last;
|
Oh! the dismal day is coming,
|
Which will break my tender Heart,
|
Life alas will be a burthen;
|
When Sir John, and I do part.
|
Oh! what torments, now posess me:
|
What enraging pains I feel;
|
Oh! what Fearful thoughts molest me,
|
Nothing can my anguish heal,
|
Down my Cheeks, soft tears are flowing,
|
trickling from my watery Eye,
|
Since my dearest dear is going:
|
For his great Offence to die.
|
You that hear my tender passion,
|
Out of pittie shed a tear;
|
And deplore my Wretched station;
|
For alass, I loose my Dear:
|
Many Years we Liv[e]d together,
|
Very Loving and Kind,
|
Now he goes the Lord Knows whether,
|
And will leave poor me behind.
|
Oh! was ever wretches fortune,
|
So deplorable as mine,
|
Ah was ever Death so certain,
|
As my Death Sir John, is thine:
|
Now I rave and am peeplexed,
|
Pittie my unhappie state;
|
For my Heart within is vexed:
|
For Sir John's untimely fate.
|
the sad day of Execution,
|
I most dismally do dread;
|
What destraction, and Confussion
|
Fills (alas) my troubled head:
|
Oh it rends my heart to pieces,
|
When I think upon the that Day:
|
Which will bereave me of my blesses,
|
By taking of my Dear away.
|
Curse on that unhappie minuet,
|
When the Horrid Plot was Laid,
|
And he that drew my Husband in't,
|
May he be with death repaid:
|
Death and Vengeance may pursue him,
|
Bring him to a timeless Grave,
|
Prove the wretches fatal Ruine,
|
and no pitie let him have.
|
time can never cure my anguish;
|
time can never ease my smart,
|
I shall ever lie and Languish,
|
till with grief I break my heart;
|
Gentle death come now and ease me;
|
Oh come close my Watry Eie,
|
Nothing but your dart can please me,
|
Since my dear Sir John must die.
|
Now farewel all Worldly treasures,
|
the sweet joys of humane Life,
|
Farewel all the Fading pleasure;
|
Oh I'm overwhelm'd with grief,
|
Down my cheeks soft tears are flowing,
|
trickling from my watry Eye,
|
Since my dearest dear is going,
|
For his great Offence to die.
|
|
|
|
|
|