The Distressed MOTHER:
Being a Merchants Daughter of London, who lost her Husband in Ireland, and her Father falling to decay, l[ying]
in Prison, brought her youngest Child to the Court at Kensington, leaving it there with a Note in its bosome, w[hich]
showd her misfortunes; desiring the Queen to be Kind to the Child for its parents sake; which she graciously [ac-]
cordingly did. To the Tune of, Let Cesar live long.
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ALL you that have now a desire to hear
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A pleasant new Ditty, Id have you draw near,
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It is of a Passage that happend at Court,
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Where both Lords and Ladies of Fame do resort;
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There came a young Woman, as we understand,
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And walkd too and fro with a Child in her hand.
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She seemed, alas! to be loaded with grief,
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And stood in great need of some speedy relief,
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As having the Picture of Care in her Face,
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Yet nothing she said to the Nobles in place,
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But wanderd about in the Court for a while,
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Still leading the Babe which did prattle and smile.
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This Infant the Ladies of Honour beheld,
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And they with pure love and affection were filld,
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[T]o see this sweet Creature, who wittily playd,
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And likewise at length near their Presence it stray[d,]
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Now they being busie, they then did not mind
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This Child, while the Mother had left it behind.
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Then missing the Mother, poor Creature it cryd,
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And looking all round it on every side;
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Yet this was in vain, for no Mother was there,
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At length the young Ladies of Honour took care,
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And brought it immediately to our good Queen,
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Who said a more sweeter she never had seen.
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In decent Apparel this Child then was drest,
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And likewise a Writing was placd in the Breast[,]
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The which gave the Queen a relation at large,
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Concerning this poor Womans grief and her char[ge,]
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As now in these following Lines will appear,
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If that you are willing to lend but an Ear.
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THe summ of the Lines of that Letter were these.
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My Husband, with Schomberg went over the Seas
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Unto the most desolate Irish Shore,
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Where Cannons in Battle, like thunder, did roar;
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And there in the Field was unhappily slain,
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For whom I in sorrow and grief do remain.
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My Father he was a rich Merchant of Fame,
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In London, yet I shall not mention his Name;
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He many fair Hundreds and Thousands has lost,
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By France, as they over the Ocean have crost:This makes me almost now distracted to run,
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My Husband is dead, and my Father undone.
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This Wealth Id not value, nay, if it were more,
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Provided that we had but Treasure in store;
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But my aged Fathers in Prison this Day,
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Because he his Debts is not able to pay:And thus, Royal Queen, I in brief do relate
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Our sad and distressed deplorable state.
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As Gracious Queen Mary the Letter did read,
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With pitty her heart then was ready to bleed;
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Sweet Babe, for thy Mother and dear Fathers sake,
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A careful provision for thee I will make;
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And likewise be kind to thy Grandsire also,
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If that thy dear Mother and him I did know.
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A Lady of Honour then stood by the side
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Of Gracious Queen Mary, to whom she replyd,
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Procure me a Nurse for this Child out of hand;
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The Lady no longer disputing did stand,
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But a careful Woman that hour did seek,
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Who has for her Wages Six Shillings a Week.
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This Child was a Girl about two years of age,
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Whose pritty sweet actions does dayly engage
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The Ladies of Honour to love it also,
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In sumptuous apparel likewise it does go:And thus by her Royal compassionate care,
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The Queen with her Ladies doth nourish it there.
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