THE
French Kings Lamentation
FOR
The Miscarriage of Monsieur Guiscard.
Being a New Song, to an Excellent New Tune.
Sung at the Opera Theatre in COVENT-GARDEN.
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I.
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WHEN Lewis the Great
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Had heard of the Fate
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Of Guiscard, his booted Apostle;
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Not Scarrons Delight,
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His Maintenon bright,
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Coud allay in his Breast the fierce Bustle.
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II.
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Sure Monarch, he cryd,
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Was never so tryd,
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And his Schemes so well laid all defeated:
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For whatever I do,
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Still Fortunes my Foe,
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And like her cast Bully Im treated.
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III.
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What have I not done
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(For the Cause as my own)
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To restore my young Brother Pretender?
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Spard Labour, nor Cost,
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But all have been lost,
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To impose on their Faith a Defender.
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IV.
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For these Nine Years and more,
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It has been my chief Lore,
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To preach up their Churches great Danger:
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Both People and Priest
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Have been caught with the Jest,
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And I aimd by dividing to change her.
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V.
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My Troops of the Gown
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With some Hopes have gone on;
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But alas all my Strength and my Cunning!
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Both by Land and by Sea,
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To my Sorrow must say,
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Have ended in Beating or Running.
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VI.
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And now when the last
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Of my Schemes, and the best,
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Was ripe, and my Priest on his Mission:
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To have Plot and Knife broke,
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At the finishing Stroke,
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Is the worst that the Devil coud wish one.
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VII.
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Ravillac the Bold,
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And Jaques Clement of old,
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Each their Catholick Daggers coud settle
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In the Heart of a King;
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But my Tool must begin
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Quite wrong, and with Heretick Metal.
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And now, as tis said,
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He in Pickle is laid,
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And Marlborough again comes for Arras:
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Shoud it prove not a Lye,
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In what a pickle am I,
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For hell stop not a Mile short of Paris.
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