The tragedy of Christopher Love at TowerHill, August 22, 1651 Wild, Robert, 1609-1679. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A66015 of text R37218 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing W2151). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 8 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A66015 Wing W2151 ESTC R37218 16271719 ocm 16271719 105214 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A66015) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 105214) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1602:20 or 2103:24) The tragedy of Christopher Love at TowerHill, August 22, 1651 Wild, Robert, 1609-1679. 1 broadside. s.n., [London? : 1651] Incorrectly identified as W2151 at 1602:20. Imprint suggested by Wing. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library. eng Love, Christopher, 1618-1651 -- Poetry. A66015 R37218 (Wing W2151). civilwar no The tragedy of Christopher Love at Tower Hill August 22. 1651. Wild, Robert 1651 1368 1 0 0 0 0 0 7 B The rate of 7 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 2003-08 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-09 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-09 Olivia Bottum Sampled and proofread 2004-09 Olivia Bottum Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion THE TRAGEDY OF CHRISTOPHER LOVE AT TOWER HILL August 22. 1651. Prologue . NEw from a slaughtred Monarchs Herse I come , A mourner to a Murthr'd Prophet's Tombe : Pardon , Great Charles his Ghost , my Muse had stood Yet three years longer , till sh'had wept a flood ; Too mean a Sacrifice for Royall Blood . But 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Heaven doe by Thunder call For her attendance at Love's Funerall . Forgive Great Sir , this Sacriledge in me , The 〈◊〉 Tear he must have , it is his Fee ; 'T is due to him , and yet 't is stol'n from Thee . ARGUMENT . 'T was when the raging Dog did rule the Skies , And with his Scorching face did tyrannize , When cruell Cromwell , whelp of that mad Star , But sure more firery than his Syre by far ; Had dryed the Northern Fife , and with his heat Put frozen Scotland in a Bloody sweat : When he had Conquered , and his furious Traine Had chas'd the North-Bear , and pursu'd Charle's waine Into the English Orb ; then 't was thy Fate ( Sweet Love ) to be a present for our State . A greater Sacrifice there could not come , Then a Divine to bleed his welcome home For He , and Herod , think no dish so good , As a Iohn Baptists Head serv'd up in blood . ACT I. The Philistins are set in their High Court , And Love , like Sampsons , fetch'd to make them sport : Unto the Stake the smiling Prisoner's brought , Not to be Try'd , but baited , most men thought ; Monsters , like men , must worry him : and thus He fights with Beasts , like Paul at Ephesus . Adams , Far and Huntington , with all the pack Of foysting Hounds were set upon his back . Prideaux and Keeble stands and cries A'loe ; It was a full Cry , and it would not doe . Oh how he foyl'd them , Standers-by did swear , That he the Judge , and they the Traytors were : For there he prov'd , although he seem'd a Lambe , Stout , like a Lyon , from whose Den he came ! ACT II. It is Decreed ; nor shall thy Worth , dear Love , Resist their Vows , nor their revenge remove . Though prayers were joyn'd to prayers , & tears to tears , No softnesse in their Rocky hearts appears ; Nor Heaven nor Earth abate their fury can , But they will have thy Head , thy Head , good Man . Sure some She sectary longed , and in hast Must try how Presbyterian Blood did tast . 'T is fit she have the best , and therefore thine , Thine must be broach'd , blest Saint , its drink Divine . No sooner was the dreadfull Sentence read , The Prisoner straight bow'd his condemned Head : And by that humble posture told them all , It was an Head that did not fear a fall . ACT III. And now I wish the fatall stroke were given ; I 'm sure our Martyr longs to be in Heaven , And Heaven to have him there ; one moments blow Makes him tryumphant ; but here comes his woe , His enemies will grant a months suspence If 't be but for the nonce to keep him thence : And that he may tread in his Saviours wayes , He shall be tempted too , his forty dayes : And with such baits too , cast thy self but down , Fall , and but worship , and your life 's your own . Thus cry'd his Enemies , and 't was their pride To wound his Body , and his Soul beside . One plot they have more , when their other fail , If Devils cannot , disciples may prevail . Le ts tempt him by his friends , make Peter cry Good Master spare thy self , and do not die . One friend intreats , a second weeps , a third Cries your Petition wants the other word : I 'le write it for you , saith a fourth ; your life , Your life Sir , cries a fift ; pity your wife , And the Babe in her : Thus this Diamond 's cut , By Diamonds onely , and to terrour put . Me thinks I hear him still , you wounding heart ; Good friends forbear , for every word 's a dart : 'T is cruell pity , this I do professe , You 'ld love me more , if you did love me lesse : Friends , Children , Wife , Life , all are dear I know , But all 's too dear , if I should buy them so . Thus like a Rock that routs the waves he stands , And snaps a sunder , Sampson-like these bands . ACT IV. The day is come , the Prisoner longs to go , And chides the lingring Sun for tarrying so . Which blushing seemes to answer from the skie , That it was loath to see a Martyr die . Me thinks I heard b●headed Saints above Call to each other , Sirs , make room for Love . Who , when he came to tread the fatall Stage , Which prov'd his glory , and his Enemies rage . His bloud ne're run to his Heart , Christs Blood was there Reviving it , his own was all to spare : Which rising in his Cheeks , did seem to say , Is this the bloud you thirst for ? Tak 't I pray . Spectators in his looks such life did see , That they appear'd more like to die than he . But oh his speech , me thinks I hear it still ; It ravish'd Friends , and did his enemies kill : His keener words did their sharp Axe exceed , That made his head , but he their hearts to bleed : Which he concludes with gracious prayer , and so The Lamb lay down , and took the butchers blow : His Soul makes Heaven shine brighter by a Star , And now we 're sure there 's one Saint Christopher . ACT V. Love lyes a bleeding , and the world shall see Heaven Act a part in this black Tragedie . The Sun no sooner spide the Head o' th' floore , But he pull'd in his own , and look'd no more : The Clouds which scattered , and in colours were , Met all together , and in black appear : Lightnings , which fill'd the air with Blazing light , Did serve for Torches all that dismall night : In which , and all next day for many howers , Heaven groan'd in Thunder , and did weep in showers . Nor doe I wonder that God Thundred so When his Bonarges murthered lay below : Witnesses trembled , Prideaux , Bradshaw , Keeble , And all the guilty Court look'd pale and feeble . Timerous Ienkins , and cold-hearted Drake Hold out , you need no base Petitions make : Your enemies thus Thunder-struck no doubt , Will be beholding to you to goe out . But if you will Recant , now thundring Heaven Such approbation to Loves Cause hath given . I 'le adde but this ; Your Consciences , perhaps , Ere long , shall feele far greater Thunder-claps . Epilogue . But stay , my Muse growes fearfull too , and must Beg that these Lines be buried with thy dust : Shelter , blessed Love , this Verse within thy shroud , For none but Heaven dares takes thy part aloud . The Author begs this , least if he be known , Whilst he bewailes thy Head , he loose his own . FINIS .