%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN / ELEGY, / Upon the DEATH of / Monsieur St. RUTH / THE / French King's General in IRELAND, / Who was Kill'd at the Battel of Agrhim, July 12. 1691. O Dively, Teague University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1691-1691 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/22/2014 33066

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R171923 ST. Ruth is Dead! is Dead! Yes, by my Shoul, / And we will make the Irish Cry and Houl; Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 360 AN / ELEGY, / Upon the DEATH of / Monsieur St. RUTH / THE / French King's General in IRELAND, / Who was Kill'd at the Battel of Agrhim, July 12. 1691. AN ELEGY, Upon the DEATH of Monsieur St. RUTH THE French King’s General in IRELAND, Who was Kill’d at the Battel of Agrhim, July 12. 1691. AN ELEGY, Upon the DEATH of Monsieur St. RUTH THE French King's General in IRELAND, Who was Killed at the Battle of Agrhim, July 12. 1691. O Dively, Teague 1691-1691 W. Rayner

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/22/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation death military/ war religious concepts religious figures religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/22/2014 1:52:14 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/22/2014 1:52:14 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:52:14 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:52:14 PM Transcriptionist Two Pedersen, Emily Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:52:14 PM Transcriptionist One Ortiz Mazariegos, Jennifer Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/18/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/25/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/25/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/24/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/22/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/22/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AN</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ELEGY,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Upon the DEATH of</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Monsieur St. RUTH</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left">French King's General in <hi rend="italic">IRELAND,</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who was Kill'd at the Battel of <hi rend="bold">Agrhim, July</hi> 12. 1691.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">By</hi> Teague O Divelly <hi rend="bold">Chaplain in Ordinary to the Irish Army.</hi></hi></seg>
ST. Ruth is Dead! is Dead! Yes, by my Shoul, And we will make the Irish Cry and Houl; We'll Houl so loud, and make so great a do, The Devils shall wonder at our Hubbaboo. By all the Shaints in Heaven, Earth, Sea and Hell, I can no l[on]ger my Sad Griefs conceal; But all the World in Blubb'ring Tears must know, How many Sighs to Dear St. Ruth I owe: Dear Shoul (Plague take thee) Prithee why did'st Dye, And go to Heaven without my Company? Faith 'twas unkindly done, and like an Ass, I fear Shaint Peter won't accept thy Pass; He's an Old Surly Shaint, Dear Joy, and knows Cuckows from Nightingals, and Doves from Crows. With me thou would'st not have been disappointed, I and Shaint Peter have been long acquainted; If thou'rt in Hell, and dost not fare no better, Prithee Joy be so kind and send a Letter: Merits like thine do surely Merit Glory, At best I'll fancy thou'rt in Purgatory; I in those Humhums have a many Friends, Who love me dearly for their proper ends: There they may lye like poor contented Asses, Unless their Friends on Earth will pay for Masses. And, a Plague take 'em, they are all so poor, They hardly find me Pence to keep my Whore: Tell 'em they must not abs'lutely Dispair, I now and then afford 'em a short Prayer; But 'tis, Shaint Patrick knows, 'tis very true, When I have very little else to do. But Joy, I'll put the Shaints in mind of thee, They will not sure be Deaf Dear Crum a Cree. But above all the num'rous Shaints that be, The Female Shaints were best belov'd by thee, For when all day thou hadst in Blood-shed been in, I know at night thou would'st be Folding Linnin; The Female Shaints shall get thee from that Hell-house, Like Maids who Marry Fellows under Gallows. Matters, Dear Joy, have gone but very ill, Since Sawcy Bullet made on thee the Kill:
The English Hereticks now stir their Stumps, And boldly vapour they have turn'd up Trumps: Wer't thou alive things thus would not be standing, Thoud'st Cut their Throats t' inform their Understanding; With Hugonots in France thou took'st great pains, T' instruct their Minds by knocking out their Brains; The French will surely at a Non-plus be, Loosing Great Lovois, and much Greater Thee; You both did Frances Glory long uphold, You by your Sword, and t' other by his Gold. But all things now are, must come to sad mishap, Children must Starve who want both Nurse and Pap. Whoo! By my Shoul Drums beat, and by my Truth The Hereticks are come ---- Good night St. Ruth. His EPITAPH. HEre lyes the Corps of Bold St. Ruth, A Champion for the Roman Truth; He was, let Folks say what they list, As Tite a Lad as ever Pist, And many did to Faith Convert, By Halters and Dragooning Art; But now to Lonesome Shades he's gone, And left us all Poor Teagues alone. But yet 'tis fear'd his boisterous Gallick Fury, Will make that Hell which was but Purgatory.
London, Printed for W. Rayner, 1691.