The DUTCHES of
MONMOUTH's Lamentation
For the Loss of Her
DUKE.
To the Tune of Tender-Hearts of London City.
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LOyal Hearts of London City,
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Come I pray and sing my Ditty,
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Of my Love thats from me gone,
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I am slighted and much spighted,
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And am left alone to mourn.
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Was not this a dreadful thing,
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To make a Plot against the King,
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And his Royal Brother too,
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I am vexed and perplexed,
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For my dear that prov'd untrue.
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A Hellish Plot there was contrived,
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And then at last they were devised,
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To make it known unto the King,
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How they had Plotted, and aLotted,
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A Murther then for to Kill him.
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But Shaftsbury and his wits confounded,
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That had my Jemmy so be-rounded,
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For to Conspire against his King,
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But God Direct and him Protect,
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That they may never Murther him.
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My Jemmy was a Subject Loyal,
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But now has prov'd himself Disloyal,
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Then she Cryed out amain;
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My Heart will break, for my Loves sake,
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Because he ne're will come again.
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Jemmy now is prov'd a Traytor,
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Tony and he were to sad Creatures,
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For to meddle so with things,
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That were too high proud Shaftsbury,
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For him to meddle so with Kings.
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Shaftsbury was wonderous witty,
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To Ruin three Nations, more's the pitty,
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Of it he was very shy,
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But he is fled and is since Dead,
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That did desturb true Monarchy.
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Jemmy once was Loyal hearted,
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And would his Life soon apparted
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For his King and Nations good;
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He delighting all in Fighting,
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Made his peace wheree're he stood.
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Shaftsbury, he was a Rebbel,
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Unto the King he was uncivil,
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For all the Honour he did gain,
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The King he slighted and much spighted
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And so he did his Royal Train.
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Jemmy was a Foe to no Man,
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Till wheedl'd in by Shaftsbury,
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Till at last he was forc'd to fly,
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You know the Reason 'twas for Treason
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For desturbing Monarchy.
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The Horrid Plot that were then known,
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Then against the King and Crown,
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That makes my Heart to Bleed full sad,
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For to hear my only dear,
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Were lately grown so very bad.
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All my joys are gone and Blasted,
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I with grief am almost wasted
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For my Jemmy that's to me dear,
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Then from her Eyes with fresh Supplies,
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Down trickles many a Brackish Tear.
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God bless the King and his Royal Brother,
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And keep us from such horrid puther,
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That were Contriv'd by Shaftsbury,
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He was a Wretch fit for Jack Ketch;
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For desturbing of Monarchy.
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Now she ends her doleful story,
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Her Lamentation laid before ye,
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She Laments for her own Dear,
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Then from her eyes, with fresh supplies,
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Down Trickles many a brackish Tear.
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