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<DATE>2013-08-26</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B120811.apex.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="A84906">
<STC T="W">F2185C</STC>
<STC T="C">R220325</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">36282123</BIBNO>
<VID>150053</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y">
<HEAD>THE French KINGS LAMENTATION For the Death of &s;o many of his Generals, and his Ill Succe&s;s in <HI>Ireland</HI> and <HI>Germany,</HI> where he Lo&s;t &s;o many of his Commanders, particularly in the Defeat given by Prince <HI>Louis</HI> of <HI>Baden,</HI> to the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Army.</HEAD>
<HEADNOTE>
<P><ADD>29. Aug. 1691</ADD> With Allowance.</P>
</HEADNOTE>
<L>LONG has my Brea&s;t been with Impatience &s;well'd,</L>
<L>While I the Doubtful Chance of <HI>War</HI> beheld,</L>
<L>Though I by <HI>Proxy</HI> Fought with others Arms,</L>
<L>And in my <HI>Palace</HI> liv'd mo&s;t &s;afe from Harms;</L>
<L>As Men who &s;it &s;ecurely on the Shoar</L>
<L>Can view a Storm, and hear the Billows roar:</L>
<L>Yet when I hear how fa&s;t my <HI>Gen'rals</HI> fall,</L>
<L>Something within me does for <HI>Pity</HI> call;</L>
<L><HI>PITY!</HI>&mdash;'tis Childi&s;h, for great Souls like <HI>Mine,</HI></L>
<L>Should never at the Will of Fate repine:</L>
<L>But when Grim Death does &s;uch Great <HI>Heroes</HI> call,</L>
<L>'Tis fit &s;ome Sighs attend their Funeral;</L>
<L>A <HI>Monarchs</HI> Tears Embalm their Mem'ry more</L>
<L>Than all the Spices of the <HI>Ea&s;tern</HI> Shore.</L>
<L>But oh! &s;uch diff'rent Pa&s;&s;ions wrack my Brea&s;t,</L>
<L>And I with mighty Loads of Grief Oppre&s;t,</L>
<L>In Change of Plea&s;ure cannot find relief,</L>
<L>(But yet there is a Plea&s;ure &s;ure in Grief.)</L>
<L>Had <HI>Private Centinells</HI> by Thou&s;ands fell,</L>
<L>And <HI>Troops</HI> and <HI>Regiments</HI> gone quick to Hell;</L>
<L>Were their <HI>Commanders</HI> &s;afe I had not car'd,</L>
<L>Tho&s;e <HI>Wretches</HI> are like Shavings of my Beard</L>
<L>Which grows again, for 'tis my Subjects care</L>
<L>To get me Children to &s;upply the War:</L>
<L>But when a <HI>Gen'ral</HI> gets a Mortal Harm,</L>
<L>&punc;Tis like the loo&s;ing of a Leg or Arm,</L>
<L>Which Lo&s;s can never be repair'd agen;</L>
<L>What Prai&s;es then are due to Valiant Men</L>
<PB N="2" REF="2" MS="y">
<L> <HI>St. Ruth,</HI> thou be&s;t of <HI>Gen'rals</HI> and of <HI>Friends,</HI></L>
<L>Thou Tru&s;ty <HI>Drudge</HI> to my Ambitious Ends;</L>
<L>Who did&s;t with <HI>Hereticks</HI> take mighty Pains,</L>
<L><HI>To &s;et their Judgment right, Knock't out their Brains:</HI></L>
<L>Oh! 'twas a Sawcy Bullet &s;natch't thee hence,</L>
<L>But again&s;t <HI>Chance</HI> how can there be Defence?</L>
<L>Yet to thy Mem'ry I will Altars rai&s;e,</L>
<L>And little Babes &s;hall learn to Sing thy Prai&s;e;</L>
<L>Thy mighty Fame thy Murd'red Corps &s;urvives,</L>
<L><HI>St. Ruth</HI> &s;hall Flouri&s;h while my Glory lives;</L>
<L><HI>Hi&s;torians</HI> &s;hall thy mighty Acts rehear&s;e,</L>
<L>And <HI>Poets</HI> write thy Prai&s;e in Lofty Ver&s;e.</L>
<L>But mu&s;t the Great <HI>Tyrconnel</HI> be forgot?</L>
<L><HI>Tyrconnel</HI> worthy of a Braver Lot,</L>
<L>Shall <HI>Generals</HI> like Common Mortals Die,</L>
<L>And in a Scorching Feaver Ga&s;ping lie?</L>
<L>'Twas his hard Fate to be &s;o Poorly Kill'd,</L>
<L>Commanders &s;hould Expire within the Field:</L>
<L>'Twas &s;trange he &s;hould &s;o well <HI>Two Kings</HI> Obey,</L>
<L><HI>James</HI> gave Command, but <HI>Lewis</HI> gave him Pay;</L>
<L>Promi&s;es may to Arms the Brave Invite,</L>
<L>But 'tis the Ready Gold which makes 'em Fight:</L>
<L>More Ill News Still? the <HI>Turks</HI> by Thou&s;ands Kill'd,</L>
<L>And <HI>Baden Louis</HI> Conqu'ror in the Field;</L>
<L>My Tru&s;ty Friends in <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Habits Slain,</L>
<L>The <HI>Army</HI> routed, and their <HI>Baggage</HI> ta'ne;</L>
<L>Sure Fate De&s;igns to cru&s;h me with my Woes</L>
<L>By repetition of &s;uch Overthrows,</L>
<L>But let the Angry Stars do what they will,</L>
<L><HI>Lewis</HI> I am and will be <HI>Lewis</HI> &s;till.</L>
<L>My Tears are &s;till to more Commanders due,</L>
<L>But Grief does be&s;t by Dumb Expre&s;&s;ions &s;hew:</L>
<L>My hopes are fru&s;trate, and the <HI>Iri&s;h Coa&s;t</HI></L>
<L>No longer mu&s;t of my A&s;&s;i&s;tance boa&s;t,</L>
<L>The <HI>Fatal Battel</HI> was at <HI>Aghrim</HI> fought,</L>
<L>Such dreadful Terrors to my Fancy brought,</L>
<L>As Game&s;ters who have deeply lo&s;t at Play,</L>
<L>With their la&s;t Stake throw all their hopes away.</L>
<L>O <HI>Ireland,</HI> what Sums thy Quarrel Co&s;t,</L>
<L>What &s;tore of Blood was in thy Country lo&s;t?</L>
<L>My Folly I but now too late repine,</L>
<L>Let who will take thee, for thou'lt ne're be mine.</L>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P><HI>LONDON,</HI> Printed for <HI>T. Tillier.</HI> MDCXCI.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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