A
ROYAL LETTER
From A
Mournful Monarch
At St. Germains, to his Friend LEWIS the
French King, Residing with his Army in
Flanders.
Tune is, Let Mary Live Long. Licensed according to Order.
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KInd Lewis my Friend,
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Since things goes no better,
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Here is a kind Letter,
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Which to you I send,
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To lay down your Arms;
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Or my Conquering Son,
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He will soon over-run
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Your Kingdom, I fear,
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He'll bring a vast Army,
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He'll bring a vast Army,
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To Conquer you here.
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Since Fortune does frown,
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And sends none but Crosses,
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Ah! great are your Losses,
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My Kingdom and Crown
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You'll never regain,
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'Tis too late now I know,
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For a Powerful Foe
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Will shortly arrive,
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Stout Boys of bold Brittain,
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Stout Boys of bold Brittain
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Fears no men alive.
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I cannot but own,
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And so I will ever,
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You've done your endeavour
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To Ransome my Throne,
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By Powerful Arms,
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Yet do what you can,
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An Unfortunate Man
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I ever have been,
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Those that fight against you,
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Those that fight against you,
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Does Victory win.
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O labour for Peace,
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Least sad Desolation
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Should fall on your Nation,
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Your Foes they encrease
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At Home and Abroad:
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This effusion of blood,
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Makes mine Eyes like a flood,
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Flow Rivers of Tears,
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The cries of your People,
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The cries of you People,
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Too, pierces my Ears.
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Your Barons are kill'd,
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And Valiant Commanders,
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By fighting in Flanders,
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All Nations are fill'd
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With rumours of Wars,
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Which troubles me sore,
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Let us freely give o'er,
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Since fighting's in vain,
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I long to see Europe,
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I long to see Europe
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Now flourish again.
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The Fates has decreed
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That my Son and Daughter,
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For ever, hereafter,
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Shall flourish indeed,
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Which satisfies me,
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So one branch they will give,
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On the which I may live,
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I freely comply,
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I am not for fighting,
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I am not for fighting,
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No, no, no not I,
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Now here lies the case,
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The most I desire,
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Is now to retire
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To some holy place,
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To spend my last days,
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Therefore Lewis my Friend,
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Let the War have an end,
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And lay the sword down,
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I'm weary of seeking,
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I'm weary of seeking
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A Scepter and Crown.
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