The SOLDIER's LAMENTATION for the Death of the brave Marquis of GRANBY. A BALLAD

Say soldier wherefore drops that tear? What sorrow frets your brow? Once foremost in the ranks of war Why droops your courage now? Ah me! I have full cause to mourn, The great, the gallant Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

No more that valiant heart shall beat, Or fir'd at danger's sight, With noble frenzy spring to meet The fury of the fight. Cold is that heart alas! as stone! Cold all our hearts now Granby's gone. Fal. lal, &c.

Where e'er wars thunders loudest roll'd, His conqu'ring troops he led; By him inspir'd, cowards grew bold, And for him bravely bled. Our war's great polar star he shone— Who'll lead us now our Granby's gone? Fal, lal, &c.

Deep rooted in his gen'rous heart, Each tender passion dwelt; That eye which cold dismay cou'd dart, At pity's tale would melt. Unnumbered widows, orphans, moan! "Our father, friend, our Granby's gone." Fal, lal, &c.

Ah Rutland, on this mortal stage, All comfort may'st thou have! May peace and patience sooth thine age, And 'tend thee to thy grave! Blest Angels when life's scene is done Shall waft thee where your Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

And thou, Sweet Charles, whose gentle breast, With all thy father glows; With thee our future hopes we rest, With thee our cares repose. Take, take us, we are all your own, We'll live for you, now Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

But hark the drum, it calls to arms! Proud Spain shall feel our rage, At Granby's name each bosom warms, And eager pants t'engage. His awful shade shall lead us on, And horror blast the haughty Don.