The Mourning LADY:
OR,
The Loyal Lover's Lamentation
FOR THE
Loss of her Noble COMMANDER,
WHO
Received his Death's Wound at the Decent to France.
To the Tune of, The Guinney wins her, etc.
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I Am a mournful Lady,
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Sharp Sorrows I lye under,
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My very Heart is ready,
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With Grief to burst in sunder;
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Farewel to all the joys of Love,
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There is nothing I ador'd above,
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My brave Commander, who
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Has bid the World adieu,
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And I am left behind,
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With a perplexed mind,
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And can no Comfort find,
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Since he, is slain who was the Life of me.
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He often fought in Flanders,
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Likewise in foreign Nations,
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One of the chief Commanders;
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His Friends and near Relations,
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Have cause to Mourn as well as I,
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That so brave a General should Dye,
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A true and trusty Soul,
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This Loss we must Condole,
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For he was one of those,
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That never fear'd his Foes,
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But did his Life expose,
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Till he, has met his fatal Destiny.
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In famous France he landed,
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Through Smoak and Flame he enter'd,
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For since he was command,
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His Life he freely ventur'd;
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And there they spilt his dearest Blood,
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Leaving me, alas to shed a Flood
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Of sad lamenting Tears,
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For nothing else appears,
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But Sorrow, Grief, and Woe,
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Mine Eye-lids over-flow,
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Ay, Whether shall I go
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To find, some Comfort for a grieved Mind?
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I Dream of bloody Banners,
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Each Night as I am lying;
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I waking cry, that Honours
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Are fading Shadows flying;
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Before he felt that fatal Wound,
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My dear Valiant Talmarsh was renow'd,
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And Sword on wings of Fame,
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Thousands ador'd his Name,
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Yet by one single Ball,
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One Minute blasted all,
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And I lament his fall,
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For he, is slain who was the Life of me.
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In Love I did adore him,
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Beyond all worldly Treasure;
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Since Art could not restore him,
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My Grief is out of Measure;
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His Death may well lamented be,
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One that serv'd his Prince by Land and Sea,
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Right Loyal, True and Just,
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And Faithful to his Trust;
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It was his chief Delight
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The Nations Wrongs to Right;
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And now his last good Night,
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I find, will be a Sorrow to my mind.
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He whom I did admire,
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Went hence by bloudy Slaughter,
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And fain would I expire,
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That I might follow after,
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For why should I alive remain,
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Since my dearest loyal Love is slain?
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With Grief I am opprest,
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Oh, that I was at rest
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With him that's gone before,
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I ne'er shall see him more,
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His Death does grieve me sore,
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For he, is slain who was the Life of me.
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