University of Virginia Library

A Letter from the Duke of M---th to the King.

Disgrac'd, undone, forlorn, made Fortune's Sport,
Banish'd your Kingdom first, and then your Court;
Out of my Places turn'd, and out of Doors,
And made the meanest of your Sons of Whores;
The Scene of Laughter, and the common Chats
Of your salt Bitches, and your other Brats;
Forc'd to a private Life, to whore and drink,
On my past Grandeur, and my Follies think.
Would I had been the Brat of some mean Drab,
Whom Fear or Chance had caus'd to choke or stab,
Rather than be the Issue of a King,
And by him made so wretched, scorn'd a thing.
How little cause has Mankind to be proud
Of noble Birth, the Idol of the Croud?
Have I abroad in Battels Honour won,
To be at home dishonourably undone?
Mark'd with a Star and Garter, and made fine
With all those gaudy Trifles, once call'd mine;
Your Hobby-Horses, and your Joys of State;
And now become the Object of your Hate:
But, d---mee, Sir, I'll be legitimate.
I was your Darling, but against your Will;
And know that I will be the People's still.
And when you're dead, I and my Friends the Rout,
Will with my Popish Uncle try a Bout;
And to my Troubles this one Comfort bring,
Next after you, by ------, I will be King.