From A Pepysian Garland: Black-letter Broadside Ballads of the Years 1595-1639 edited by Hyder E. Rollins (Cambridge: University Press, 1922), page 89:

The ballad is correct enough in dates and places, but misrepresents Raleigh's words and actions on the scaffold. For this misrepresentation, censorship of the press rather than personal animosity of the author is, no doubt, responsible. For although in 1601 Raleigh's supposed responsibility for the execution of the Earl of Essex aroused much hostile feeling against him, by 1618 this feeling had largely changed to sympathy for his own misfortunes. No ballads on Raleigh were entered in the Stationers' Register for 1618, but many were in fact printed. On November 21, 1618, John Chamberlain wrote: "We are so full still of Sir Walter Raleigh that almost every day brings forth somewhat in this kind, besides divers ballets, wherof some are called in, and the rest such poore stuffe as are not worth the overlooking" (Calendar of State Papers, Domestic, 1611-18, p. 597; C. H. Firth, Royal Historical Society Transactions, 3rd Series, v, 40). Of this "poore stuffe" the Pepysian ballad is the sole surviving printed specimen. Years later (in 1644) appeared a prose and verse pamphlet called To day a man, To morrow none: Or, Sir Walter Rawleighs Farewell to his Lady, The night before hee was beheaded: Together with his advice concerning HER, and her SONNE (reprinted in Charles Hindley's Old Book Collector's Miscellany, vol. III).

For the tune see Chappell's Popular Music, i, 174.

Sir Walter Rauleigh his lamentation:
Who was beheaded in the old Pallace at Westminster the 29. of October. 1618.

To the tune of Welladay.

1 Courteous kind Gallants all,
    pittie me, pittie me,
My time is now but small,
    here to continue:
Thousands of people stay,
To see my dying day,
Sing I then welladay,
    wofully mourning.

2 Once in a gallant sort
    liued I, liued I,
Belou'd in Englands court
    graced with honours:
Sir Walter Rauleighs name
Had then a noble fame:
Though turned now to shame
    through my misdoing.

3 In youth I was too free
    of my will, of my will,
Which now deceiueth me
    of my best fortunes:
All that same gallant traine
Which I did then maintaine,
Holds me now in disdaine
    for my vaine folly.

4 When as Queene Elizabeth
    ruld this land, ruld this land,
I trode the honord path
    of a braue Courtier;
Offices I had store,
Heapt on me more and more,
And my selfe I in them bore
    proud and commanding.

5 Gone are those golden dayes,
    woe is me woe is me:
Offences many waies
    brought vnto triall,
Shewes that disloyaltie
Done to his Maiestie,
Iudgeth me thus to dye;
    Lord for thy pitie.

6 But the good graces heere
    of my King, of my King,
Shewd to me many a yeere
    makes my soule happie
In that his royall Grace
Gaue me both time and space
Repentance to embrace:
    now heauen be praised.

7 Thirteene yeare in the tower
    haue I lien, haue I lien,
Before this appoynted houre
    of my liues ending:
Likewise such libertie
Had I vnluckily,
To be sent gallantly
    out on a voyage.

8 But that same voyage then
    prou'd amis prou'd amis,
Many good gentlemen
    lost their good fortunes:
All that with me did goe
Had sudden ouerthrowe
My wicked will to shew
    gainst my deere Countrey.

9 When I returned backe,
    hoping grace, hoping grace,
The tower againe alacke
    was my abiding:
Where for offences past,
My life againe was cast
Woe on woe followed fast
    to my confusion.

10 It pleas'd my royall King
    thus to doe, thus to doe,
That his peeres should me bring
    to my liues iudgement.
The Lieutenant of the tower
Kept me fast in his power,
Till the appointed houre
    of my remoouing.

The Second Part.

11 To Westminster then was I
    garded strong, garded strong
Where many a wandring eye
    saw me conuayed
Where I a Iudgment had,
for my offences bad,
Which was to loose my head,
    there the next morning.

12 So to the Gatehouse there,
    was I sent, was I sent,
By knights and gentlemen,
    guarding me safely,
Where all that wofull night,
My heart tooke no delight:
Such is the heauie plight
    of a poore prisoner.

13 Calling then to my mind,
    all my ioyes, all my ioyes,
Whereto I was inclind,
    liuing in pleasures:
All those dayes past and gon,
Brings me now care and mone,
Being thus ouerthrowne,
    by mine owne folly.

14 When the sad morning came
I should die, I should die:
O what a fright of shame:
    fild vp my bosome:
My heart did almost breake,
when I heard people speake,
I shold my ending make
    as a vile traitor.

15 I thought my fortunes hard,
    when I saw, when I saw
In the faire pallace yard
    a scaffold prepared:
My loathed life to end:
On which I did ascend,
Hauing at all no friend
    there to grant mercy.

16 Kneeling downe on my knee,
    willingly, willingly,
Prayed for his Maiestie
    long to continue:
And for his Nobles all,
With subiects great and small,
Let this my wofull fall
    be a fit warning.

17 And you that hither come
    thus to see, thus to see
My most vnhappy doome:
    pittie my ending.
A Christian true I die:
Papistrie I defie,
Nor neuer Atheist I
    as is reported.

18 You Lords & knights also
    in this place, in this place
Some gentle loue bestow
    pity my falling:
As I rose suddenly
Vp to great dignitie,
So I deseruedly
    die for my folly.

19 Farewell my louing wife
    woe is me, woe is me:
Mournefull wil bee thy life,
    Left a sad widdow.
Farewell my children sweet,
We neuer more shall meet
Till we each other greet,
    blessed in heauen.

20 With this my dying knell
    willingly, willingly,
Bid I the world farewell
    full of vaine shadowes
All her deluding showes
brings my heart naught but woes
Who rightly feeles and knowes,
    all her deceiuings.

21 Thus with my dying breath
    doe I kis, doe I kis,
This axe that for my death
    here is prouided:
May I feele little paine,
when as it cuts in twaine,
what my life must sustaine,
    all her deceiuings.

22 My head on block is laid,
    And my last part is plaid:
Fortune hath me betraid,
    sweet Iesus grant mercy.
Thou that my headsman art,
when thou list, when thou list,
Without feare doe thy part
    I am prepared:

23 Thus here my end I take
    farewel world, farewel world,
And my last will I make,
    climing to heauen:
For this my offence,
I die with true penitence,
Iesus receiue me hence:
    farewell sweet England.

London Printed for Philip Birch and are to be sold at his shop at the Guyld-hall.