THE
LIFE and DEATH
OF THE
DUKE of BERWICK.
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ASSIST me, ye Muses, I pray lend your Aid,
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To undergo a Task, for I am afraid,
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Without that you help me, I shall fall too low,
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In speaking of him whom some Thousands do know:
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The brave Duke of Berwick, tis him I do mean;
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And of his Exploits some of them I will name:
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But first let me tell you, eer farther I run,
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He was late King Jamess own natural Son.
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In England born, which causd him to be,
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The bravest stout Soldier that eer you did see;
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The best of all Foes that eer did advance;
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Witness the Battle that was fought at Almanze;
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Where he to his Soldiers most bravely did say,
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Brave Boys, if it happen that we get the Day;
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Be courageous and bold, and commit no Slaughter;
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But pray give my English Countrymen Quarter.
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What braver than this could an Enemy say?
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O Curse on grim Death that snatchd him away:
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Then cursd be the Gunner that fired the Shot,
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And cursd be the Bullet that fell to his Lot:
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That soon deprived brave Berwick of Life:
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Robbd Children of Father, parted Man and Wife:
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A sad Separation; who can now express
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The Grief of the Widow and the Fatherless.
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But stop not Assistance, but farther lets go:
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For more of brave Berwicks Valour Id know;
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Fame now reporteth and says very plain,
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He at Syracusa saw some Thousands slain:
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Then, why did not grim Death take him quite away?
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His Corpse would long since have moulderd to Clay:
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No, no, his Summons he denyd to serve,
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Until noble Berwick more Honours deservd.
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Then from Syracusa he strait to Blackwood,
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There he waded up to his Knees in Blood:
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But still to his Soldiers aloud he would cry,
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Fight on my brave Boys let us every Man die.
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For my own Countrymen are courageous and bold;
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And will by no Means at all be contrould;
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But if we get the better, and they should surrender,
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Pray be kind unto them, nay loving and tender.
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Then Malplaquet next was where he did run,
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But yet he escaped the firing of Guns:
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Altho from the same he neer did retire,
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But still he was riding thro all Smoak and Fire.
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Theres nothing could daunt him, but O cruel Fate
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Hath put an End to his longer Date:
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At Phillipsburgh, France there got her Loss,
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There he was shot dead, when mounting his Horse.
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In many other Places great Feats he hath done,
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But his noble Actions are now with him gone.
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All those that in the Service of Queen Anne have been,
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Unto cruel Death they do bear a Spleen;
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For taking brave Berwick their merciful Foe:
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Tho some were his Prisners, they never Want did know.
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For to support them no Cost he would spare;
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And still would call them his Countrymen dear.
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Alas! noble Berwick, could you not return,
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When the King, your Master, did send for you home?
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He knowing your old Age and Infirmity,
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In the Field of Honour you was resolvd to die:
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Call me not home, good Master, now I pray,
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For in the Field I am resolvd to stay,
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But said, Good Master, since I have begun,
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Let me proceed until my Glass is run.
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Altho Sixty-six, see what Courage was there?
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This good antient Man yet a stout Heart did bear:
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So all pityd him that Day when he did die,
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Because he could not stay to gain Victory:
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Much more might be said, but I must have done:
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He dyd both a Prince, a Peer, and a Kings Son,
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His Soul into Heaven I hope it is good,
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The which puts an End to my tragical Song.
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