%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Englands Tribute of Tears, / On the Death of his Grace the DUKE of GRAFTON, / Who received his Mortal Wound at the Siege of the City of Cork in Ireland, / on the 9th. of October, 1690. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/31/2021 36507

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R227129 1 Watch for a Wife Man's Observation: Or, Aim not too high Fortune my Foe Watch for a Wife Man's Observation: Or, Aim Not Too High Unwelcome Tydings over-spreads the Land, / The Great, the Wise, the Just do weeping stand. Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. : Englands Tribute of Tears, / On the Death of his Grace the DUKE of GRAFTON, / Who received his Mortal Wound at the Siege of the City of Cork in Ireland, / on the 9th. of October, 1690. England's Tribute of Tears, on the Death of his Grace the Duke of Grafton, who received his mortal wound at the siege of the city of Cork in Ireland, on the 9th of October, 1690. ?-? J. Millet

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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Englands Tribute of Tears,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">On the Death of his Grace the DUKE of <hi rend="bold">GRAFTON,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who received his Mortal Wound at the Siege of the City of <hi rend="bold">Cork</hi> in <hi rend="bold">Ireland,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">on the 9th. of <hi rend="bold">October,</hi> 1690.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Tune is, <hi rend="bold">The Watch for a Wise Man's Observation:</hi> Or, <hi rend="bold">Aim not too high.</hi></hi></seg>
UNwelcome Tydings over-spreads the Land, The Great, the Wise, the Just do weeping stand; What is the cause of Loyal Subjects Tears, Those Crys and Sorrows which invade our Ears. What Castles, Towns or Cities have we lost, Or hath the Rebels our good purpose crost? Or hath our Valiant Warlike-Troops missed Oh! no, the grief is that Great Graftons dead. Renowned Hero, whose unhappy Fate Untimely Death his Days did terminate; Whose boyling Blood like to the early Spring, Ambitious was to serve his Royal King.
Insulting Death, thus daring to surprise So great a Soul, could nothing less suffice Thy famish'd Jaws, but such a Hero bold, Who scorn'd by Rebells for to be controul'd: And did the greatest hazzards freely run, And by his mighty Arm great things has done; The Monuments and Rolls of lasting Fame, Shall Crown his Courage, Conduct, and his Name. The warlike Grafton did no labour spare, A Loyal Heart he in his Breast did bear; Resolving still King Williams Cause to fight 'Gainst France and Rome that wou'd oppose his right.
The Dutch and French when they were both Engag'd, He see the odds, which made him soon Enrag'd; And coming up, he did the French destroy, Thus kill'd the Monsieur and the poor Dear-Joy. And thus the Fleet of France was forc'd to fly, While Dutch and English, Crown'd with Victory, Did fill the Enemy with dread and fear, His true Heroick Courage did appear. And thus his Loyal Soul still promp'd him too The Irish Rebells, them for to pursue; And to Chastize them for their Villany, Against King Williams Crown and Dignity. Unto the Siege of Cork he March'd with speed, Thus while he did his Warlike Forces lead, The Fates upon our Valiant Hero frown'd, For in this Battel he receiv'd a Wound, Whereof he Dy'd, well may the Nation Mourn, And all in tears pay Tribute to his Urn. His Life he lost, Religion to maintain, And we shall ne'r behold him here again. In a Religious Cause it was he fell, Therefore we hope his Loyal Soul will dwell Amongst blest Saints and Angels, to enjoy True Bliss, where Mortal Cares can't him annoy. All State and Glory of this present Life, Incumber[']d is with trouble, care and strife; On Fortunes restless Waves we often steer, Meeting with many Disappointments here. But happy is the Man that here can make His Peace before the world he does forsake, As this most Noble Duke we know has done, His Eyes with true Repenting tears did run. We must acknowledge Trouble he went through, Yet like a Lamb he bid the world adieu; And Angel did Conduct him on their Wings, As a Rich Present to the King of Kings.
FINIS. Printed for J. Millet, at the Angel in Little-brittain.