The French-man's Lamentation
for the Great loss of their Noble General
Mounsieur de Turenne.
Who was Kill'd by a Cannon, Shot from a party of the Emperours
Army, which lay in Ambuscade in a Wood, and shot him in the breast, where he
Dyed Immediately, and his Lieutenant was then Killed by him, which was on the [2]3
of July 1675. Mounsieur Turenne being then in the 64th. Year of his age, and had
been Marshal of France just half his time, being 32 years.
To the Tune of, A fig for France and Holland too.
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OF honour and renown i'le sing,
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All generous hearts assistance bring,
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The Son of Mars, a Warriour brave,
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By a great Shot brought to his Grave;
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Death durst not meet him in the field,
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But unawares did make him yield,
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,
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Turenne no more is to be found.
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The French mans glory now is dead,
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Before whom thousend troops have fled,
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He never was afraid to dye,
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In greatest dangers scorn'd to flye;
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But bravely would maintain the fight,
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Till all his foes were put to flight,
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to, etc.
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Fate envies that so brave a Soul,
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Should their decrees so long controul,
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For from his birth this brave Turenne,
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Full sixty four years had seen,
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He idly did not spend his time,
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Nor wantonly did wast his prime;
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to, etc.
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At thirty two just half his age,
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His Enemies he did ingage,
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That Monarch great, the King of France,
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Him to a Marshal did advance;
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Which place he kept unto his death,
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And bravely fought to his last breath,
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,
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Turenne no more is to be found.
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THe enemy in ambush lay,
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On purpose his life to betray,
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For they had planted in a Wood,
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Two Cannons which did spill his blood;
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They knowing that he would come there,
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Lay lurking as if nothing were,
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,
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Turenne no more is to be found.
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They saw him marching without harm,
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Did thunder him a fierce alarm,
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The first shot without hurt pass'd by,
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Fearing such valour to come nigh,
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But as it happened that came there,
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To give him warning to prepare.
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Let Drums, etc.
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The other Gun with iron fill'd,
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The noble Mounsieur quickly kill'd,
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So many pieces came together,
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They flew like hail in stormy weather;
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Some of them could not choose but kill,
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And execute their masters will,
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Let Drums, etc.
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Into his breast the shot then flew,
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And instantly the Warriour slew,
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His brave Lieutenant dy'd by his side
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Scorning that Fate should them divide:
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They who together drew their breath,
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Were true companions in their death;
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Let Drums, etc.
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The news was posted to the King,
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Which did to him much sorrow bring,
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So brave a Subject had he none,
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His fame through all the world was known:
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His memory will never dye,
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Although his bones in dust do lye:
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Let Drums, etc.
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His valour made his foes to creep,
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And sent them to eternal sleep,
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Not only courage was his praise,
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But policy his fame did raise,
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All which joyn'd with success did crown,
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Turenne with honour and renown.
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Let Drums, etc.
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A prop he was unto the Crown,
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No foes could beat his courage down,
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His Masters cause he did defend,
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And faithful was unto the end;
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But now alas, he's dead and gone,
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His equal there he has left none.
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Let Drums, etc.
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Let him that reads this understand,
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Twas written by an English hand,
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True valour must be prais'd though he,
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That has it proves an enemy;
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France now in mourning does appear,
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Having left him whom they lov'd so dear;
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Let Drums and Trumpets cease to sound,
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Turenne no more is to be found.
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