The Italian Dutchess:
Or, the Lamentation of Mary, late Queen of Great
Britain, for the loss of her three Kingdoms. It was sent from
France to the Countess of Tyrconnel, and now Published for the be-
nefit of all English Subjects; especially, those who love the Re-
ligion of Old Mother Church.
To the Tune of, Billy and Molly: Or, King James's Lamentation.
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LET every King and Queen give ear
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To my sad Lamentation,
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I weep, I cry, I rant and tear,
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And sigh beyond relation;
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For Fortune pull'd me up above
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The Clouds of Roman Glory;
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But now I fall, from Babel's Wall,
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As low as Purgatory.
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I came of Popish Pedigree,
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The Daughter of Modena;
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And York did fall in love with me,
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As Jove with Nonacrena.
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I turn'd him to Old Mother-Church,
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And brought him to Confession;
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And now and then, in great disdain,
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I made him feel my passion.
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When Charles the Merciful and Great,
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Out of this World he tumbled,
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All England saw his sudden Fate,
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And all the Subjects grumbled:
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But I was quickly made their Queen,
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And all Men did adore me:
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But six Months space did turn the chase,
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All England did abhor me.
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By Father Petre's fond advice,
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I wore the Royal Breeches;
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And in the Privy Councel, twice,
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I made two learned Speeches.
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Poor Monmouth's Head I caus'd Cut off,
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Which my Confusion further'd;
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And hundreds more of Wretches poor,
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To my Good Health were Murder'd.
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I beat my Peers that stood in awe;
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The Bishops put in Prison.
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My will it was the Nations Law,
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Tho it was void of Reason.
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Had not an Orange choak'd my rage,
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And broke what I intended,
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The Popish Cause had been the Laws,
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And England's Church had ended.
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I English Hereticks ran down,
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And still promoted Popery;
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I pull'd my Husband from his Crown,
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And all advice was Foppery:
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And tho I be a poor Man's Child,
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I'm not asham'd to say it,
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I've many a Night with Candle-light,
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A thousand Guinea's played.
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I to Our Lady did present
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A Holy Diamond Bodkin,
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And she to take it was content;
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And was not that an odd thing?
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In shams, I quickly then conceiv'd,
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My Belly wore green Willow;
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But Cut splut her nails, the brave Prince of Wales,
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Did prove but a Royal Pillow.
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My only Maid of Honour now,
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Is Goody Wilks that laid me,
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And tho I made so much to do,
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I fear the Whore betray'd me:
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For all the Holy-days and Prayers,
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And roaring Works of Thunder,
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Were a thred-bare Cloak, which Heaven did mock,
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And made but the World to wonder.
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O English-men, let me be Queen,
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I'll never drive but lead you;
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I swear by a French Gown of Green,
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I'll neither Hang nor Head you:
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Tho you be Hereticks, and I
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Be not bound to believe you,
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I'll trust you all, both great and small,
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And all your Crimes forgive you.
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But if you'll not accept of me,
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To be your Queen again now,
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I will stir up the French, and see
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What may be done with Spain too.
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I'll set on edge the Pope of Rome,
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And all these three will aid me;
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A Top-knot I, will also buy,
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And send it to our Lady.
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