# Two songs/The Dutchess of Newcastle's lament

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
The Dutchess of Newcastle's Lament.
THERE is not a tailor in all London town, That can shape Newcastle's fair lady a gown; Her belly's turn'd big and her face pale and wan, She's fallen with child to her own servant man.
This beautiful lady with tears in her eyes, I'm ruined for ever, with sorrow, she cries; My credit is broke, and honour is gone, And what will I say when my good lord comes home.
Deluded by falsehood I soon did comply, For it was my footman that with me did lye; To shew himself guilty, like a cruel knave, He's fled from his country his life for to save.
The ladies of honour they will me disdain, Likewise my young baby will publish my shame; My Lord for the same he will turn me away. To wait on his coming I dare not to stay.
When the Duke he arrived on the English shore, To hear what was acted, it grieved him sore. These tidings of sorrow it did him surprise, When tears like a fountain ran down from his eyes.
Thou worst of all women, thou emblem of strife, ​I took the a servant, and made thee my wife, I advanced your honour in every degree, You've lain with your footman, you'll ne'er lie with me.
Had you proved chaste as I proved kind, Neither riches nor honours should have alter'd my mind But you love another far better than me, So now from my presence you banish'd shall be.
I'll clothe my daughter in silver my son in gold, Because they are of a beautiful mould; But a bill of devorcement your portion shall be, You've lien wi' your footman, you'll ne'er lie wi' me.
He call'd for his factor, and to him did say, This impudent strumpet I'll turn her away; Of all I possess she disinherit shall be, She's lain wi' her footman, she'll ne'er lie wi' me.
To some foreign country I'll now take my way, For here in Old England no longer I'll stay; Since the charms they are blasted that I did adore, In my heart I shall never love a woman more.
The Duke he took shipping, away he did sail, Over to Calais with a pleasant gale, At the ⟨court⟩ of France a while for to stay. But the unfortunate lady was turned away.
This sorrowful lady was turned away, Laments her misfortune by night and by day. Crying Ye ladies of honour, take warning by me, Be chaste to your husband of every degree.
​Once I was a lady of fame and renown, But here like a pilgrim I range up and down. Without any person my woes to regard, And this for my folly is a just reward.
Was ever a woman so bewitched as I, Who had all the pleasures life could enjoy; Likewise my dear husband he did me adore, But now I'm forsaken, distressed, and poor.
To beg I'm ashamed my wants to supply, Likewise my friends I dare not come nigh: O death come and ease my sad troubled mind, For here in this country no comfort I find.
So this sorrowful lady a wandering did go. Till death in a short time put an end to her woe; In a certain valley her body was found, There with her sweet baby lying on the cold ground.
This tragical story which here I have told, May it be a warning to both young and old; In wedlock be faithful to your marriage vow, Lest such dreadful examples unto you ensue.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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