The Mournful Solemnity,
Or, the Royal
Funeral of William the Third:
Late King of England, Scotland, France, & Ireland, who was Inter'd amongst
his Royal Ancesters, in the Chappel of King Henry the seventh, on the
Twelfth of April, 1702. To the Tune of, Aim not too High.
Licensed according to Order.
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COME listen now you Loyal Subjects all,
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To this sad mournful [?]
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Of our Deceased Monarch, who of late
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Was the Preserver both of Church and State.
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The time and manner of his Obsequie,
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I have set down, and also where he lies
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Inter'd; that so his Subjects far and near,
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A most exact and just Account may hear.
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April the Twelfth, near Ten a Clock at Night,
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Two Files of Granadeers appear'd in sight,
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To clear the way, then follow'd all the rest,
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Beating a March, with Drums in Mourning drest.
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Eighty Six Mourning Coaches follow'd then,
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With Noble Lords and Worthy Gentlemen,
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Lighted by our Flamboys as they past along,
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In solemn manner through the weeping throng.
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In Mourning all the Yeomen of the Guard,
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With Halberds in their hands mov'd afterward,
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In solemn manner as they led the way,
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Before the Chariot where the KING he lay.
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Eight Horses cover'd all with mourning deep,
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Drew this Rich Chariot, where as in a Sleep
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King William lay, no Chariator was there,
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Pages in Mourning led the same with care.
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Only four Pillars bore a Canopy,
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Over the Chariot, that all men might see,
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The last of him who did the Nation save,
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Mourning convey'd him to his silent Grave.
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On the Rich Chariot head we might behold,
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His Royal Arms Embroadered with Gold,
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The Coffin cover'd with a Purple Pall,
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Which o'er the Chariot sides full deep did fall.
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Of this same Velvet was a Coushin made,
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[?]
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On which a Rich & Sumptuous [?],
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With Ermine lin'd and other beautys grac[']d.
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Prince George of Denmark next with Chariot came,
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Chief Mourner here, with Noble Men of Fame,
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Lighted by Torches to illuminate,
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This Royal Funeral in Mourning State.
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After His Royal Highness Guards of Horse
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Approached, who did much lament the loss
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Of their Great Master, passing to the Ground,
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Both Drums and Trumpets made a Mournful sound.
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In decent order through Hide-Park they came,
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Whose Lamps appear'd like one intire flame,
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From thence they to the Abby past along,
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While Subjects did their Doors and Windows throng.
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To see the last of their Renowned King,
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Some sigh't, some wept, and some their hands did wring,
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Undoubted signs of heavy sorrow sure,
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But we the loss with patience must endure.
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He that has many mighty Armys led,
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With Marshall Drums and Flying Colours spread,
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The Rights of wronged Kingdoms to Regain,
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Was follow'd here with a sad Mourning Train.
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And to the Chappel of King Henry,
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Where many of his Ancisters do lie:
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He is inter'd, and sleeps among the rest,
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Who formerly the Royal Throne possest.
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Now thus a full and clear Account you have,
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How from his Pallace to his Royal Grave
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He was convey'd: purchase the same I pray,
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For his dear sake who made our Foes obey.
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