Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	admire_v	fame_n	great_a	48	3	2.1033	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A89399	A mournfull elegie, in pious and perpetuall memory of the most honourable, Robert, Earle of Essex and Evve, Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrers of Chartley, Bourchier, and Lovaine, late Lord chiefe Generall of all the Parliaments forces, who exchanged his life Septemb. 14. 1646.	J. B.	1646 (1646)	Wing M2986A; ESTC R232169	8,184	22

Synod cannot chuse but shed Some Fun'rall teares since your stout Patron 's dead And you brave Souldiers will have moistned eyes For he is fall'n by whom you all did rise Weepe Widdows weepe he 's gone that was of late Your most indulgent constant Advocate And you that once were foes some teares bestow On your owne selves your fines will not be low Weepe England now thou se'st thy Champion's end Scotland weepe too for thou hast lost a Friend But Ireland most of all expresse thy griefe For he is dead that long'd to send reliefe Weepe Vertue too for thou a Widdow art And well mai'st act the chiefest mourners part And Envy weepe and starve now he is gone Thou l't scarce find goodnesse heere to feed upon An Epitaph on the Earle of Essex BOast Marble that conceal'st this Dust Not of thy Lastingnesse but Trust Ten thousand unto thee shall bring Of vowed teares their offering The driest eye shall drop a Gem T' enrich death's envi'd Diadem To thine great Essex's Memory Shall adde it 's owne eternity Thereby thou shalt thy selfe out last Which else like other stones would'st waste And mix thy Dust with them that deepe Thou unprophaned now do'st keepe Nay Death it selfe will sure prevent Of His and Essex Monument The least decay For neer did he More glory in a victory On thee Death sits in state and braves Himselfe more then on neighbour-graves To kill a Prince or Duke or so Is counted but Death's common blow But when he slew brave Essex he Did triumph ore Humanity The Virger that 's wont to relate This Princes valour that 's estate The vertuous life and famous acts Of Peeres deceased the extracts Of every noble Family May finde all in Epitome And save the labour of Retaile And tell the people HERE LIES ALL. An Elegie upon the most lamented death of the Right Honourable and truly valiant ROBERT Earle of Essex c. I Thanke thee Griefe that thou hast found a voice Some thinke there runs no streame where's heard no noise And yet I le beare thee witnesse when there stood No water in thine Eye thy Heart wept Blood So may the stealing Brooke mourne under ground When on the surface nought but Flint is found Advance my Teares then and your Office bee To bring the Reare up of this Obsequie A Reare of Mourners which shall reach from hence To Doomes-day mourning not for Forme but Sense We now but see the Pompe but after times Shall make us feele our Losse due to our-Crimes VVhen Monarchy shall faint and Faction thrive How shall we then wish Devereux alive VVhen there is none to dry up Widdowes Teares None to Repulse our Jealousies and Feares When Justice selfe shall want an Advocate And truth in coward silence read her Fate When those daies come O never come those Daies Never to us that he shall weare the Bayes And be accounted valiant who shall dare To whisper Truth though onely to the Aire When the meane Feet shall trample ore the Head How shall we then feele Devereux is dead Devereux the Nobles Orbe the Gentries Starr The Cities Altar the wrong'd Countries Barr Devereux the Just Devereux the Stout the Wise The maimed Souldiers Limbes the Blind mans Eyes The Armies faithfull Alm'ner or what 's more Devereux the very Devereux of their Poore Yet He this Cedar's fall'n or rather is Transplanted for to grow in Paradise How the Ghosts throng to see their great new Ghuest Talbot Vere Norris Williams and the rest Those valiant Shades England's best Sonnes each one Courting Him to their Bowers Bowers whereof none But was of conquering Laurell there to heare A storie which would force from Ghosts a Teare Their Mothers Tragedy as 't was acted late By her owne Children to make sport for Fate For they had seen the Stygian Boats e'vn sinke Laden with Soules up to the very brinke Had known their Charon tugg and sweat and say England did find him most work and best pay He the new Ghuest who since he did afford To hold in peace the Scales in War the Sword Could therefore give best Judgment the pure stampe How things'ith Senate pass'd how in the Camp Dissects the Body politique and with weight Laies ope the Griefes and Maladies of State Shewes how those hands that held the Scales were numb And how that Tongue which should preach Peace was dumb The Feet saith He went staggering and 't is sed Some Clouds and Vapours did possesse the Head Whose little finger had the poyson mov'd Heavier then all his Fathers Loynes had prov'd The Eyes grew dim and darkish whiles the Eare Deafe to sage Counsell yet strange Tales could heare And the whole Frame did so with Feaver burne Feaver might serve for Piles to fill the Urne And England mouldring thus through Feaverish Ire Save Heaven the labour of a Doomes-day Fire All now was turning into Ashes so Consuming Flames Incendiaries blow Hence Englands best Physitians judg'd it need To save the Body that some veines should bleed Surgeons from all parts come to work the Cure She now was patient and must all endure Leeches and Emp'ricks Colledge fulls all came To cure no but to practise on their Dame And thus they let her bleed too much so they Can gaine no matter though she bloodlesse lay Yet some there came Artists and honest too Men that without a plot their work would do Men that to stop her blood their own did give And paid their Deathlesse Lives to make her live So sharp a Pill is War that some have thought Even Health it selfe at this price too deare bought Physick on a Swords point can seldome please Men count such Remedies worse then the Disease And thus as he was blazning States and Men Persons and Things the Cause why how and when Still passing ore Himselfe as if he were Though others Trumpet His own Silencer Still his own Mute whilst yet he Trumpets forth Great Warwicks and Northumberlands great Worth VVith other Heroes plac'd in high Command Neptunes at Sea and Marses on the Land But who was He cry'd some not but they knew But that they long'd to heare those gests anew Which they so dearly lov'd who 's he that fought So much for Peace 'bove Victory that thought The bloodlesse Bayes the best He that aim'd moe To save one Citizen then kill many a Foe He that knew how to value Lives the Man So much good Souldier and good Christian That kill'd and sigh'd mourn'd as he Trophies wore Mingling his own Teares with his Enemies gore As if his Grand Commission did not give Him power to kill and slay but kill and grieve And yet agen that most undaunted Hee When th' Armies were to joyne to disagree VVho speech'd his Souldiers first with Voyce and Drum Then Caesar-like bad them not go but come He who Himselfe an Army was alone He who was then most Generall when yet none And had whole Legions ever at his need Legions of Souldiers not to Fight but Feed Yea but who 's He cry'd one among the throng That with so few men rais'd a Siege so strong That made Retreat from twice his odds the while As he Retreated fighting threescore mile And this not through fenc'd Lanes and in thick nights The Downes and Midday Sun saw all his fights An honour we could envy could this place Loves Throne admit a wrinckled Heart or Face VVith that some Cavalier Ghosts for there come Of them to rest here in Elysium The Learned Faulkland and Carnarvan stout Fierce Lindsey Spartan shades above the Rout Such as had paid him Homage with their Blood And fallen his Sacrifices when he stood Pointed at our deare losse and said all this And more is Devereux this and more is His Which made him blush His pale Ghost blush'd and then He look'd as if he had been alive agen But when such prayses even from Enemies come It were a sin in us should we stand dumbe And is' t not pitty so Fam'd worth should dye Without an Heire No Sonne to close his Eye No Child to weare his vertue with his Name None to inherit his well-gotten Fame But as great ' Paminondas answered those His Friends that mourn'd his Fall mourn'd by his Foes ' Cause he fell Childlesse as if Greece were done Since so much vertue dyed without a Sonne But yet saith He still beare it in your mind I 've left two Daughters with you here behind Leuctra and Mantinea who shall keep Their Fathers Name from Death and Thebes from sleep So when our Devereux Devereux a word Great as that Greek's and keener then his Sword A Name that fils the Mouth and wounds the Eare A Name that Machiavell would be pleas'd to heare He who admires the Pagans large-siz'd Name 'Bove Christians as if words could create Fame So when our Devereux is bemoan'd in Death As one that leaves no Sonne to breath his Breath Answer is made He leaves two Daughters faire Reading and Glocester Daughters such as are Sans parallell and which will cost the State Millions to match them with an equall Mate Or should this Issue faile yet how can He Want Sonnes and Heires who 's Pater Patriae C. G.

A Mournfull Elegie In pious and perpetuall Memory of the most Honourable ROBERT Earle of ESSEX and EVVE Viscount Hereford Lord Ferrers of Chartley Bourchier and Lovaine late Lord chiefe Generall of all the Parliaments Forces who exchanged his Life Septemb. 14. 1646. LONDON Printed for Thomas Banks 1646. For the Tombe-Stone PAying a tribute teare admitted be To view this cover of Mortalitie Which because fifty odd years it did detaine A heavenly soul within its earthly chaine Within this heap of stones is doom'd to be Till time submit unto eternitie Which notwithstanding when you see it have This Marble Statue say it is a Grave Whose out-side howsoever faire it be The inside's putrifi'd deformitie This penance ended ' cause it once was blest In entertaining so divine a Ghuest In glorious forme it shall presented be To heavens unknown joyes by the Majestie Of God himself there let his blest soule rest Till that his body be with glory blest An Elegie on the death of the most honourable Earle of ESSEX TO shadow sorrow seek not tears of brine For that 's a womans Rhetorique not mine I may paint part of grief but cannot cry The tide 's too great to drop out misery Whole floods of tears must like a Cataract Gush and affright when I my sorrowes act Shallow streams mutter silent are the deep My flood her flood gate breakes if I do weep Then come Melpomene with thy graving pen Sink deep into the iron hearts of men What they are sencelesse of array my Verse With accents sadder then this sable Herse Let every sine my dull braine shall afford Rend one good heart at least let every word Gaine one poor soule t' accompany to blisse This lamp of light that here ecclipsed is To shine in heaven a traine see that he have T' attend him there greater then to his grave Attends his corps or if my words may move None else that do so well his vertue love Then let my captiv'd soule infranchis'd be To passe with his unto eternitie If earth-dull'd spirits such height cannot aspire Then for Associates let the heavenly Quire Of Angells guard him and his Requiem sing Where unmasqu'd joy and perfect musicke ring His happie entrance S. John Brooke Hambden be Ready to waite with best observancie On his approach But say Malignant death What caused thee so soon to stop his breath Was it that I thy cruelty might find Or th' generall hate thou bear'st to all man-kind To glut thy intralls all-devouring grave Thou mightst have tane some wretch whom need A corner in the concave of thy womb makes crave And have made that not him to fill the tomb Of thy inveterate malice our hearts griefe Could none suffice thee but the Chiefest Chiefe Of all our Sex Must Jems of such esteem Give lustre to thy hated Diadem Or was it because things of greatest price Unfit for earth inhabit must the skies If it were so yet for a little space Thou might'st have spared him till of his race One branch had issued forth not at one time Have crop'd both fruit and tree even in the prime Of all his glory when th' admiring world Upon his goodnesse every eye had hurld When hope lay bedrid and all comfort dying When cruelty her self sate almost crying When neighbouring worlds his glory most envi'd Then Englands honour Europes wonder di'd Which us to checke the charitable skies Embalme him with rich tears sent from bright eyes As if just heaven were pleas'd that he should have A second Deluge to attend his grave What sad events have happened since his death Since much lov'd Essex was depriv'd of breath No day nor night hath past nay scarce and houre In which heaven hath not pleas'd to send a shower Of tears to celebrate his obsequies Which men should pay from over-flowing eies Storms have produced shipwracks shipwracks dearth Of food and fuell from the teeming earth Bread-corn and firing both are dearer sold As if with him all charity were grown cold As if the axill-tree of the world should crack Which Atlas-like he bore upon his back Our Kingdomes being in a tottering State God by his hand the same did regulate Prop and uphold which now at six and seven Again do hang as if not swaid by heaven The Kings best friend and eke the Kingdoms too Who loving both to neither could be foe The Clergies Patron and the Souldiers glory Both read him and admire him in his storie Germans both high and low lament with me That Spain and France joyes in your miserie Occasion'd through his fall that Schismatiques Tub-Preachers Anabaptists Heretiques The Independents Antinomians Papists The Brownists and which worst of all the Atheists Begin to glory In thy triumph death Thou might'st have spared his and stopt my breath Thy cruelty had then been kindnesse stil'd And death to man-kind had been reconcil'd Those few among the multitude of men That wish me well had Trophies to thee then Erected and instead of bitter Layes Thou hadst been crown'd with Encomiastike bayes Me that am weary of a wretched life Neglected friendlesse all compos'd of griefe Thou givest leave to see my Lords sad death And after him to draw abhorred breath Him that was happy in all things under heaven By God or nature might to him be given Helpfull t' all open-handed unto merit Sober in carriage of an humble spirit Him that like God of War in conquering field His brandisht sword ne're force of foe made yeeld Him hast thou taken away and me hast left To moan his losse of so much good bereft Could nothing serve thy wrath for to appease To spare his life and breed our Kingdomes ease Could not the plaints of Peers the Commons fears The Churches supplications souldiers tears His sisters scorching sighs his kindreds groans The clamour of his friends his servants moans The votes of Parliament the orphans cries The poors Petitions nor the weeping eies Of widowes move th' impartiall hand to dart Thy death-wing'd arrow at some others heart They could not why because his prayer was That he might be dissolv'd with Christ to passe From hence to heaven where most victorious he In triumph treads on sin and destinie Hadst thou with judgements eye but once beheld His most Majestike face it would have queld Thy fearelesse rage as often it hath done When Mars himself did smile on Mars his sonne Let Edgehill-Fight and Glocester witnesse be The famous battell fought at Newberie And thousand Trophies more of victory Of prowess and of magnanimitie By him obtain'd had his unlimited soule In other Lands been suffered fans controule To actuate what he at home hath done It had appear'd more glorious then the Sun 'T was he made smooth the rigid path of war 'T was he that did remove the enemy far From our Avenues Others did but build On his foundation he first gain'd the field Yet was he sleighted scoffed scorn'd and jeer'd By those that lov'd him not those he not fear'd

Stigmatike coxcombs that durst once to lay Aspersion on that Sun whose light made day Which now Ecclipst our Hemispheare is made All night our Sun is now become a shade And in this shade we now are left to moan Not Essex losse but in his losse our own But I do but obnubilate his praise Striving unto a higher pitch to raise What my impolisht quill cannot expresse But by expressing that I make it lesse Hadst thou this seen death thou hadst not then don What now thou hast nor I had cause to moane But being gone why do I wast my breath 'T is he that triumphs and not grisly death On him thy envie hath gain'd only this To change his fading good for endlesse blisse Let us not then as men without hope grieve Since that his purer part his soule doth live That would of incredulitie us reprove Or challenge us of envie or self-love To grieve would argue doubt of his estate Or envie that he proved so fortunate Or at the least self-love it would expresse In prizing our losse not his happinesse But here me thinks I hear some whispering ask How silly I dare undergo this task When many hundreds that more able are Who in his losse do likewise claime a share Have and do daily write in mourning Verse With which to garnish this bedewed Herse I answer all that write write not for love Fashion their pens but passion mine doth move My hope doth therefore guide me to believe My mite shall be received with theirs that give Abundantly but this digression leaving With his pure soule let prayers fly to heaven That all surviving Peers now left behind May be affected in their soul and mind As he hath been that when fate ends their dayes They may be crown'd with never-dying Bayes Of good name here and with that blest renown Of lasting joy the everlasting Crowne In a far better world as he now is Being possest of never-ending blisse I then shall think me truly happy when Divinest Ecchoes answer shall AMEN J. B. AN ELEGY VPON the unhappy losse OF THE NOBLE EARLE OF ESSEX LONDON Printed for John Benson and are to be sold at his shop in Dunstanes Church-yard 1646. An Elegy on the Death of the noble Earle of Essex I Need no fatall quill that ha's the art At every line it writes to breake an heart For when I shall but once begin t' expresse The publique cause and subject of my verse More motives may be spar'd our unstrain'd grief Will need no provocation but reliefe Essex is dead What thunder strikes our eares Threatning an inundation of teares This is a judgement more then wee conceiv'd To be by our best hope the most deceiv'd And that the Noble Cause of our Redresse Should now be so of our extreame Distresse Or is' t a mercy since Heaven did intend At last an exil'd peace back t' us to send Thus to make way by soft'ning our hard hearts By such a blow which the successive darts It shot at our owne persons could not pierce Who ne'er had wept but at his frowne or hearse That wee exchanging for new griefe old hate Though sencelesse of our owne might mourne his fate That teares begun for losse might end for sin And hearts twice broke let peace and mercy in But is he gone from us Injurious Death Hast thou depriv'd him of that purer breath Then quickens vulgar lumps I then could wish That old Pythagoras Metempsychosis Were not a fable that the world might boast A second Phoenix now the first is lost When England lost it's darling in the fate Of his lov'd Father though unfortunate In their desires their hopes did still surviue Whil'st he had left so brave a Son alive Whose early youthfull blossomes did presage Most glorious fruits in his more riper age But all that then was hop'd was that the Son Should keepe that honour which his Father wonne But he not bounded by strict president His as all other patternes quite out went Compleatest acts of ancient Hero's were The essaies of his youth whereon to reare Fames highest Stories their great aimes were found His first attempts their battlements his ground So that great Essex's name is greater growne By his Sons honour added to his owne For ev'n in them was long time verifi'd What 's said of Kings for Essex never di'd Till now But now the Title too is gone A Title men will tremble to put on Though offer'd since it strongly do's oblige To courage councell combate storming seidge Devotion Temp'rance and what ever can Render the wearer a most perfect man And surely had Heav'n blest us but so much As with a Son of his he had been such This envious fiends suspected and did try Their utmost skill to barre him progeny But he shall live in his more lasting name Borne on the wings of never-dying Fame No Chronicler shall need to write his praise In mouldy parchment left to after-daies For as the holy Patriarchs Religion Was left to them by long-deriv'd tradition So shall his acts be handed to those men Are yet unborne and they the same agen shall tell their Childrens Chidren till it grow Part of their education to doe so In his poore Cottage by a Winter fire To his great granchildren shall the aged sire From 's easie chaire relate the ancient stories Of his exploits and vertues whil'st he glories T' have trail'd a pike at Keinton or receiv'd A shot at Reading or when 't was reliev'd T' have march't to Gloster then the memory Of that unparallell'd Newb'ry victory Shall cause him rake his embers and proceed To tell the Generals vertue as his deed And yet my Children though all this did he He courted not the peoples cap or knee Their praise or dispraise he did not regard Virtue that set him on was his reward And though he had yet was been prais'd by none He durst in spight of all be good alone He moov'd by his owne principles for 't is knowne He was not wrought by Royal smile or frowne Like to the trusty Sun he kept his line Pursuing still his first and knowne designe He was not made for changes nor could lend An I. in Parliament for a by-end If he had foes they durst not mak 't appeare His frowne alone would strike them dead with feare And if they wisp'rd any thing amisse They guard his name with a parenthesis Still He was faithfull who so e'r offended T is much to be by All so well commended But they were wise who durst the same deny Sure he was desp'rate and resolv'd to dye Who so durst meet him durst doe more then Death That ravish'd not but stole away his breath Ah treacherous coward that did'st slily creepe And unawares to kill him in his sleepe Now Noble Peeres after his Hearse march on Mourne as you go your great exampl's gone And you grave Patriots learne to know your losse He was your blessing whom some thought your crosse You reverend