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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A94211 The satyrick elegie vpon the execution of Master Nathaniel Tomkins July the 5. 1643. 1643 (1643) Wing S722; Thomason 669.f.8[18]; ESTC R212068 1,113 1

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THE SATYRICK ELEGIE Vpon the Execution of Master NATHANIEL TOMKINS July the 5. 1643. To the Citizens of London T IS Tomkins glad spectators whom you see Hang as the Trophy of your tyranny Whose loyall harmlesse bloud is spilt By and for you yet no pale guilt Dwells in your faces with dry eyes You murther and call 't Sacrifice I will not say of fooles but sure no man Can call such heathen Offerings Christian Such bloudy deep-dy'd Crimson facts Must not be call'd Apostles acts Though Case were godfather the Dove Descended on the Sonne of Love And not the Kite or Eagle no such fowle Must stand as Embleme of a Christian soule Though your new Buffe-Divines can draw Bloud from the Gospell and make 't Law A killing Letter and can bring Christ into th' field to kill the King When both the Cannon and the Musket shot Proclaim'd you guilty of a Pouder-plot Blacker than Fauxess and more fell Than that you say was hatcht in Hell When to defend them you let flye At King Prince Duke Nobility T is true you beare a bloudy Crosse but this No badge of murther but Religion is And Walworth's Dagger in your field Shewes a Lord Major a Rebell kill'd But now he is one and yet he And Walworth weares one Liverie For my part since Edge-hill I ' count that we Live not by right but onely courtesie He that dares smite my King is more Than I dare think grand Seigniour And I his vassaile and my breath Is his whose nod or frowne is death Brittain where's now thy liberty thy walke Is not thine owne thy gesture nor thy talke Thou mayst smile Treason now a look If cast a squint upon a book Sign'd with H. E. will strike th' as dead As Basiliskes or Gorgons head Isles were Informers punishment at Rome Where they liv'd Exiles ours is now become Their Paradice He that can spye Malignant in the face or eye Is a made man need nothing feare Preferments grow at Westminster For knaves and Sycophants and such as can Ruine three Kingdomes to make up one man Thus fell brave Tomkins rather thus He hood as did Calimachus And more spake dead for he did come A dead man to receive his doome Which as he did fore-know he scorn'd nor cou'd Their number or their malice chill his bloud He stood undaunted nor did feare The Saw-pit Lord or Manchester Nor yet Sir Johns bloud-guilty front With Straffords head engrav'd upon 't Nor the rest of City Iudges that were there For nothing but to murther and forsweare Thus dy'd the Roman Thrasea Brave man and thus fell Seneca Both wise and rich and fortunate Save in his tyrant pupills hate Nero who laugh't to see Rome frie and sung Vnto his Harp the flames of Iium You doe the same and worse for now A Kingdom 's all on fire whilst you Idle and glad spectators lend Fresh fuell lest the fire should spend Look to 't thou bloudy City fast and pray London that this prove not Acheldama From your black doom wee 'll this conclusion draw You have no Gospell Tomkins had no Law Printed at OXFORD by Will Web 1643.