An elegie offer'd up to the memory of His Excellencie Robert Earle of Essex and Ewe Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrers of Chartley, Bourchier and Lovaine, late generall of the Parliaments forces. / Thomas Philipot. Philipot, Thomas, d. 1682. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A90651 of text R40096 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.10[82]). 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. 5 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 A90651 Wing P1995 Thomason 669.f.10[82] ESTC R40096 99872566 99872566 162616 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. A90651) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162616) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f10[82]) An elegie offer'd up to the memory of His Excellencie Robert Earle of Essex and Ewe Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrers of Chartley, Bourchier and Lovaine, late generall of the Parliaments forces. / Thomas Philipot. Philipot, Thomas, d. 1682. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (port.) Printed for William Ley at his shop in Pauls Chaine, London : [1646] With engraved portrait of the Earl of Essex. In verse: "As some tall Oake 'gainst whom the envious Wind" ... Date of publication suggested by Wing. Annotation on Thomason copy: [illegible, cropped]th 1646. Reproductions of the originals in the Harvard University Library (Early English books) and the British Library (Thomason Tracts). eng Essex, Robert Devereux, -- Earl of, 1591-1646 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Elegiac poetry, English. A90651 R40096 (Thomason 669.f.10[82]). civilwar no An elegie offer'd up to the memory of His Excellencie Robert Earle of Essex and Ewe, Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrers of Chartley, Bourchier Philipot, Thomas 1646 794 1 0 0 0 0 0 13 C The rate of 13 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2007-07 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-07 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-08 Pip Willcox Sampled and proofread 2007-08 Pip Willcox Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion AN ELEGIE OFFER'D UP TO THE Memory of his Excellencie ROBERT Earle of Essex and Ewe , Viscount Hereford , Lord Ferrers of Chartley , Bourchier and Lovaine , late GENERALL of the PARLIAMENTS Forces . THE MOST NOBLE ROBERT EARLE OF ESSEX AND LO: GEN : OF THE FORCES FOR K : & PARL. portrait of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, Lord General AS some tall Oake 'gainst whom the envious Wind Oft in impetuous Hurricans combin'd Does stand unmov'd , although assaild by all The angry Gales , yet of it selfe does fall When there 's scarce Breath enough i' th sullen Aire To ravell or disturb a Virgins Haire : So this brave Lord who like a swelling Rock At Keynton , Newbury , had stood the Shock Of death , unmov'd , where he himselfe had flung Amidst his Troops with all his Terrors Hung This death at last did like a drousie sleepe O're his becalm'd unguarded Sences creepe . What Springs of Teares shall we disburse ? what Terse Curld Metaphors now stick upon his Hearse ? Tears are but dull and , common rights they are The stipend of each vulgar Sepulcher Here Seas themselvs should be lav'd out , and streams Be lick'd up by the Sun's refulgent Beams That in the day's great Eye there might appear For this great Ruine too , a Funerall Tear Whole Cataracts should bee exhald , and then Distill'd in liquid Obsequies agen , Such shoures are most proportion'd to his Fate And to his losse such Teares Commensurate , What Shrine or Trophies shall our lavish Art As Tribute to his Ashes now impart ? What Dole of Obelisqu's shall wee entrust To stand as Alphabets unto his Dust ? Alas ( Great Lord ) what Urne is fit for thee ? Who to thy selfe art Urne and Elegie And for Supporters wee our selves become Congeal'd with Sighs Supporters to his Tombe . What Gummes or Spices shall wee now prepare T' enshrine his Dust ? since they but fluid are And obvious to Decay so soone , they 'l bee Transform'd themselves into more Dust then Hee , No , Hee has left his Name , which shall embalme His Earth , and all Corruption so becalme This when , his Sear-cloath is Dissolv'd and Spent , Shall to it selfe bee its own Monument ; What Tapers now shall wee afford his Shrine ? About the Chaos of his Dust to shine 〈…〉 his Honor'd Breast And is lock'd up now in his Marble Chest Shall fill their Roome , and from the gloomy Night Of his dark Vault , Dart a perpetuall Light . What Heaps of Palme and Laurell shall wee lay As Chaplets drop'd upon his livelesse Clay ? No let us rather Sprigs of Olives strow Upon his Monument , which there will grow , And by our Teares manur'd shall so increase It shall bee stil'd by all the Arke of Peace . How Crippled now Nature does seeme , her Frame Is disproportion'd and her Junctures lame Since from her Bulke this mighty Limb is lop'd ; And as when Flowers by early Fate are crop'd From off their Stalke the mourning Stem appeares As if it wept their losse bath'd ore with Teares : So now when Hee that seem'd even to Cement Nature's vast Fabrick , from her Building 's rent By Death's unthrifty Hand , the whole Compact By this one Blow is so resolv'd and slack'd 'T is fear'd 't will languish into Dust , and all The heap of Men entomb too in its fall , For at that Breach thy Soul flew out at , wee Our selves ( Great Lord ) must bleed to Death with Thee Since then ( Fair Soul ) thou by thy Fate doest gaine Triumphs and Palmes , and wee alone sustaine The Losse , and Death attempting to benight With his blind Clouds the Glory of thy Light With which so long amidst our Orbe you shone Has fix'd thee now a Constellation In Heaven above , look from thy brighter Sphere On us , who like dull Ants lye groveling here Maim'd by thy Death , and if leane Envie dare To rake or paddle in thy Sepulcher May shee grope out her way to that , and find Thou with thy Spotlesse Beams didst strike her Blind ; Enjoy thy Crowne of Glory then , and bee As from all Guilt , so from all Envie free , And if in after ages , any Stone Shall bee by bold Detractors at thee throwne T' will turne a precious one , and so combine To make this Crowne of Glory brighter shine . Thomas Philipot .