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Elegies & laments

Fathers, lament, for his son, Laureenc [sic] King

(7) Fathers, lament, for his son, Laureenc [sic] King

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      THE FATHERS, LAMENT, FOR HIS SON.

             LAUREENC, KING

Atend each loveing parent and listen to this tragedy,
My greif is unavailing I hope you all will pity me,
In sorrow I'm drown'd lamenting still bhth night & day
For my son & only conford this fetal forfeit now must pay

Oh Laurence king my dailing son I realy had no friend but you,
And must I at the comdemn'd cell bid you the long & last adue,
Oh you were young & innocent it was drink caus'd you to go astra,
Dear son my heart is breaking to think upan your dying day,

Young Clutterbuck whose life you took a gentle youth both good &kind
It was the devil I may say that uage'd it in your tender mind,
O honnesly I reard you from the time of your nativity,
But all my hops ere over for alas your parting now from me,

Oh long shall I rember our farewell in the County Jail.
O sim that love'd dearly his loss in tears I now bewail,
Adtu my Father dear he said in Heaven l'i remember thee,
Your trouble greives me more than the faceing of the gallows tree,

The dreadful wensday morning alas with terror it draws near,
When before the great Redeemers trone for trial you'll apear,
And may the Virgin Mary defend your cause upon this day,
And while you'r standing on the trap I hope that for yob they will pray

To God I now return thanks & the Priests it Nuns of Tullamore,
With you are so delighted God's pa don still do you implore,
Each day these Blesse'd Ladies their time with you they do employ
To give you consolation, my child, my son and darling boy,

You neeb no blame your Jury for mercy they did recommend,
Your Counsel ors behaved, like me, your care they nob y defen'd
But no mercy for you could be found tho bitterly they did it crave,
On the gallows high you are doome'd to die and sleep all in a felons

God Help each tender parent that ever rear'd a foolish son,
We know not what a waits us all & cursee drink we all should shun,
Oh you are to die that shamful deat which ends this fearful tragedy
Which is the cause of all our woe and parts forever you and me,

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P. BRERETON, Printer, 1, Lr, Exchange, Street, Dublin.

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