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