And mourn for the loss of this good little King.
Except just by way of a lark,
His militia he never would call out,
He then made them shoot at a mark
Till they had shot all their powder and ball out.
CHORUS.
"Lack-a-day, well-a-day!" then let us sing,
And mourn for the loss of this good little King.
To his neighbours he always was kind,