The true manner of the life and Death of Sir Thomas Wentworth, late Lord Lievtenant Deputy of Ireland, Lord Generall of his Majesties Army, Knight of the Noble order of the Gar∣ter, who was beheaded the 12. day of this present moneth of May, 1641, the rune is Welladay Welladae.

TRANSCRIPT:

The true manner of the life and Death of Sir Thomas Wentworth, late Lord Lievtenant Deputy of Ireland, Lord Generall of his Majesties Army, Knight of the Noble order of the Garter, who was beheaded the 12. day of this present moneth of May, 1641,

The rune is Welladay Welladae.

COuntry men list to mée
patiently patiently,
And you shall heare and sée,
As time giues leasure,
The obiect of mishap.
Caught fast in his owne trap,
Cast out of fortunes lap,
Through his owne folly.

Sir Thomas Wentworth hee,
At the first at the first
Rose to great dignitie,
And was beloved,
Charles our most gratious King
Grac't him in many a thing,
And did much honour bring,
On his procéedings.

Fames Trumpèt blasoned forth
His great name, his great name
Lord president of the North,
So was he called,
And as I understand,
Hée had in Ireland,
A place of great command,
To raise his fortunes.

Mo•e honour did befall,
Vnto him unto him,
He was Lord generall,
Of the Kings army,
These titles giuen had hée
By the Kings Maiestie,
And made assuredly
Knight of the Garter.

But here's the spoyle of all,
Woe is mée, woe is mée,
Ambition caus'd his fall,
Against all reason,
Hee did our lawes abuse,
And many men misuse,
For which they him accuse,
Quite through the kingdome.

New lawes hée sought to make,
In Ireland in Ireland,
If he the word did speake,
None durst with stand him,
Hée ruld with tyranny,
And dealt most cruelly,
To men in misery,
The like was neare heard of.

The Second part,

To the same tune.

HE hath done thousands wrong
As tis knowao as tis knowae
And cast in prison strong,
Our Kings liege people,
Such cruelty possest
His black polluted brest,
Hée thought himselfe well blest,
In acting mischiefe.

But those that clime highest of all
Oftentimes oftentimes,
Doe catch the greatest fall,
As here appeareth,
By this unhappy wight,
Who wrong'd his Countryes right,
And over came by might,
Our good kings subiects.

To London Tower at last,
He was brought, he was brought,
For his Offences past,
And just deservings,
And after certainely,
He was condemn'd to dye,
For his false trechery,
'Gainst King and Country.

It being the twelth day
In this moneth of May,
As true reports doe say,
Hée came to his tryall,
The Nobles of our land,
By Iustice Iust command,
Past sentence out of hand,
That he should suffer.

When the appointed time,
Was come that he should dye,
For his committed crime,
The ax being Ready,
Vp to the scaffold hee,
Was brought immediately,
Where thousands came to sée,
Him take his death.

After some Prayers said,
And certaine spéeches made,
O' th' block his head he layd,
Taking his farewell.
The heads-man bloodily,
Divided presently,
His head from his body,
With hées keene weapon.

Heauen grant, by his downefall
That others may take héed,
Lord send amongst us all,
True peace of conscience,
And may our King and Quéene,
Amongst us long be séene,
With all their braunches greene,
To all our comfort.

L.P.