The Mournful Monarch,
OR,
The Lamentation of the late King James , at the Dismal
Tydings of the Surrender of Lymerick , in the Kingdom of Ireland .
Tune of , Russels Farewel. Licensed according to Order .
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I.
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YOu Christian Princes of the World,
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vouchsafe to pitty me,
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Whose thoughts are in Confusion hurl'd,
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like a Tempestuous Sea:
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I lost three Kingdoms and a Crown,
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by Jesuits Trappan'd;
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And now I wander up and down
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all in a Forreign Land.
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II.
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Once I was Seated on the Throne,
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and did a Scepter Sway;
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True Subjects did my Power own,
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till I was led away,
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My Peoples Free-born Liberty,
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to trample down with speed;
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The thoughts of this does trouble me,
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and makes my Soul to bleed.
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III.
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When slavish fears did me inhance,
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I cross'd the Roaring Seas,
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Straight to the Royal Court of France ,
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in hopes to live at Ease:
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But I was sent to Ireland ,
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an Army there to Fight,
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My French nor Tories would not stand,
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but took themselves to flight.
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IV.
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I left a standing Army there,
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about the Month of June ,
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Their Pay was Brass, their Cloaths were bare,
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their Courage out of Tune:
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Now I three Kingdoms quite have lost,
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for Ly'mrick is Subdu'd;
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I have no Force, no Foot nor Horse,
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my Sorrows are renew'd.
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V.
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Would I had never been a King,
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but of some meaner Race,
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Then had I never felt the Sting
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of Trouble and Disgrace:
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Here must I wander out my days
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in Sorrow, Grief and Woe;
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Those which I did to Honour raise,
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has prov'd my Overthrow.
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VI.
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All Ireland is now Subdu'd,
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my hopes are at an end;
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The French , who thus my Cause pursu'd,
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hath prov'd a failing Friend:
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Farewel, farewel fair Ireland ,
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my sorrows are increas'd,
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There's nothing that I take in hand
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doth prosper in the least.
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VII.
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A thousand times I wish in vain;
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that I had never seen,
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My Partner in my Royal Reign,
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that proud insulting Queen:
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I often granted her Request,
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what she did crave of me,
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Till I was clearly Dispossest
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of Crown and Dignity.
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VIII.
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What Mortal would a Monarch Reign,
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since Cares the Crown doth line?
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The harmless Country Shepherd Swain,
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feels no such Grief as mine:
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The Subject that enjoys his own,
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let it be ne'r so small,
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Yet he has more laid up in store;
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than Kings, whose Crowns do fall.
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IX.
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This World does most unconstant prove,
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from whence my sorrow springs,
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Now will I place my heart above
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the thoughts of Earthly things:
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My Honour, Triumph, Glory, State,
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this day does disappear,
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Both Crowns and Scepters stoop to Fate,
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there's nothing stedfast here.
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X.
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I will go Mourning to the Grave,
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since all my Glory's fled,
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These very Lines, O let me have
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over my Royal Head;
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That when a Traveller draws near,
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and reads my Dismal Doom,
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He may in pitty shed a Tear
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upon my Marble T omb.
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