A Tragical SONG:
OR,
Mr. Wil. Montfort,
The Famous Actor Unfortunately Killd.
Tune of Mary Live Long.
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GOod People draw near,
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And hear my sad Ditty
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With Hearts full of Pity,
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This Tragical Year
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Is bloudy indeed:
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Some they fairly do fight,
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Others stabd in the Night,
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as they do go home,
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Brave Montfort the Player,
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B[r]ave Montfort the Player,
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He lately was one.
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His Name still will last
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In Court Town or Country,
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By Cits, or the Gentry,
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Till Ages are past
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For Acts on the Stage;
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For in playing a Part,
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He excells the famd Hart,
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Or Moon thats dead too,
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Nay, no one thats living,
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Nay, no one thats living,
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Can Montfort out-do.
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His Carriage was such,
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In all Conversation,
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To be free from Passion,
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And never thought much
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To oblige any one;
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From a Lord to a Cit,
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He was free with his Wit,
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And Courteous withal:
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But now alas Killing,
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But now alas Killing,
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Is usd all in all.
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Each one does lament
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His death, since lifes shortnd
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By bloudy misfortune,
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And cries out amain
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Poor Montfort is gone,
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It is all ore the Town,
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Was the like ever known,
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To use a man so,
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when coming tos Lodging,
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when coming tos Lodging,
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He should be run through.
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O cruel hard Fate,
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Since Murders in fashion,
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With the English Nation,
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That men cannot scape,
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Being killd by the Sword;
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One can hardly pass by,
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But another does cry,
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Lets kill the next man.
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Some never will leave it,
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Some never will leave it,
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Untill they be hangd.
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Heres Montfort of late,
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Tho young and beloved,
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How soon Life is moved,
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When malice or hate
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Shall once resolve Death,
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As he went without Light,
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He was run thro that Night,
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And dyd the next day;
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So he thats Moon-blinded,
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So he thats Moon blinded
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May soon lose his way.
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