I snipp’d the blossom’d lavender, and the pinks, and the gillyflowers;
No petal trembled in my hold—
I saw not the dead stretched stark and cold
On the trampled turf at the shepherd’s door,
In the cloak and the doublet Monmouth wore,
With Monmouth’s scarf and headgear on,
And the eyes, not clos’d, of my soldier son;
I knew not how, ere the cocks did crow, the fight was fought in the dark,
With naught for guide but the enemy’s guns, when the flint flash’d out a spark,
Till, routed at first sound of fire, the cavalry broke and fled,