And thus of Old Soldiers, ye hear the Fame, But ne'er so many of one House and Name, And all of old _John Lord Viscount_ of _Thame_, _An old Soldier of the Queens,_ _And the Queens old Soldier._

_On the Tombs in_ Westminster Abby.

_You must suppose it to be_ Easter _Holy-Days: At what time_ Sisly _and_ Dol, Kate _and_ Peggy, Moll _and_ Nan, _are marching to_ Westminster, _with a Leash of Prentices before 'em; who go rowing themselves along with their right Arms to make more hast, and now and then with a greasie Muckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their Foreheads. At the Door they meet a crowd of_ Wapping _Sea-men_, Southwark _Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the_ Bank-Side, _with a Butcher or two p.r.i.c.kt in among them. There a while they stand gaping for the Master of the Show, staring upon the Suburbs of their dearest delight, just as they stand gaping upon the painted Cloth before they go into the Puppet Play. By and by they hear the Bunch of Keys, which rejoyces their Hearts like the sound of the_ Pancake-Bell. _For now the Man of Comfort peeps over the Spikes, and beholding such a learned Auditory, opens the Gate of_ Paradise, _and by that time they are half got into the first Chapel, (for time is very precious) he lifts up his Voice among the Tombs, and begins his Lurrey in manner and form following._

_To the foregoing Tune; In Imitation of the Old Soldiers._

Here lies _William de Valence_, A right good Earl of _Pembroke_, And this is his Monument which you see, I'll swear upon a Book.

He was high Marshal of _England_, When _Henry_ the Third did Reign; But this you take upon my Word, That he'll ne'er be so again.

Here the Lord _Edward Talbot_ lies, The Town of _Shrewsbury's_ Earl; Together with his Countess fair, That was a most delicate Girl.

The next to him there lyeth one, Sir _Richard Peckshall_ hight; Of whom we only this do say, He was a _Hampshire_ Knight.

But now to tell you more of him, There lies beneath this Stone: Two Wives of his, and Daughters four, To all of Us unknown.

Sir _Bernard Brockhurst_ there doth lie, Lord Chamberlain to Queen _Ann_; Queen _Ann_ was _Richard_ the Second's Queen, And was King of _England_.

Sir _Francis Hollis_, the Lady _Frances_, The same was _Suffolk's_ Dutchess; Two Children of _Edward_ the Third, Lie here in Death's cold Clutches.

This is the Third King _Edward's_ Brother, Of whom our Records tell Nothing of Note, nor say they whether, He be in Heaven or h.e.l.l.

This same was _John_ of _Eldeston_, He was no Costermonger; But _Cornwall's_ Earl, and here's one dy'd, 'Cause he could live no longer.

The Lady _Mohun_, Dutchess of _York_, And Duke of _York's_ Wife also; But Death resolv'd to Horn the Duke, She lies now with Death below.

The Lady _Ann Ross_, but wot ye well, That she in Childbed dy'd; The Lady Marquiss of _Winchester_, Lies Buried by her side.

Now think your Penny well spent good Folks, And that you're not beguil'd; Within this Cup doth lie the Heart Of a _French Emba.s.sador's_ Child.

But how the Devil it came to pa.s.s, On purpose, or by chance; The Bowels they lie underneath, The Body is in _France_.

[Sidenote: Dol. _I warrant ye the_ Pharises _carried it away._]

There's _Oxford's_ Countess, and there also The Lady _Burleigh_ her Mother; And there her Daughter, a Countess too, Lie close by one another.

These once were bonny Dames, and tho'

There were no Coaches then, Yet could they jog their Tails themselves, Or had them jogg'd by Men.

[Sidenote: d.i.c.k. _Ho, ho, ho, I warrant ye they did as other Women did, ha_ Ralf. Ralf. _Oy, Oy._]

But woe is me! those high born Sinners; That went to pray so stoutly; Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't, Their Statues pray devoutly.

This is the Dutchess of _Somerset_, By Name the Lady _Ann_; Her Lord _Edward_ the Sixth Protected, Oh! he was a Gallant Man.

[Sidenote: Tom. _I have heard a Ballad of him sang at_ Ratcliff Cross.

Mol. _I believe we have it at home over our Kitchin Mantle-Tree._]

In this fair Monument which you see, Adorn'd with so many Pillars; Doth lie the Countess of _Buckingham_, And her Husband, Sir _George Villers_.

This old Sir _George_ was Grandfather, And the Countess she was Granny; To the great Duke of _Buckingham_, Who often topt King _Jammy_.

Sir _Robert Eatam_, a _Scotch_ Knight, This Man was Secretary; And scribl'd Compliments for two Queens, Queen _Ann_, and eke Queen _Mary_.

This was the Countess of _Lenox_, Yclep'd the Lady _Marget_: King _James's_ Grandmother, and yet 'Gainst Death she had no Target.

This was Queen _Mary_, Queen of _Scots_, Whom _Buchanan_ doth bespatter; She lost her Head at _Tottingham_, What ever was the Matter.

[Sidenote: Dol. _How came she here then?_ Will. _Why ye silly Oafe could not she be brought here, after she was Dead?_]

The Mother of our Seventh _Henry_, This is that lyeth hard by; She was the Countess wot ye well, Of _Richmond_ and of _Derby_.

_Henry_ the Seventh lieth here, With his fair Queen beside him, He was the Founder of this Chapel, Oh! may no ill betide him.

Therefore his Monument's in Bra.s.s, You'll say that very much is; The Duke of _Richmond_ and _Lenox_, There lieth with his Dutchess.

[Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those days._]

And here they stand upright in a Press With Bodies made of Wax; With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand, And their Robes upon their Backs.

Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_, And the Dutchess his Wife; Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town, And so he lost his Life.

Two Children of King _James_ these are, Whom Death keeps very chary; _Sophia_ in the Cradle lies, And this is the Lady _Mary_.

[Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._]

And this is Queen _Elizabeth_, How the _Spaniards_ did infest her?

Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_, And now agrees with her Sister.

To another Chapel now we come, The People follow and chat; This is the Lady _Cottington_, And the People cry, who's that?

This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_, The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she; And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is, And then they look up and see.

Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here, Death would him not reprieve; With his four Sons, and Daughters four, That once were all alive.

The next is Sir _John Fullerton_, And this is his Lady I trow; And this is Sir _John Puckering_, Whom none of you did know.

That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle, Who makes no use of his Bladder; Although his Lady lie so near him, And so we go up a Ladder.

[Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a Hundred such._]

_Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade, Lies underneath this Stone; And this is the Chair which he did bring, A good while ago from _Scone_.

In this same Chair, till now of late, Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd; Under this Chair another Stone Doth lie upon the Ground.