An elogy upon the much lamented death of Mr Luke Fawne, junior, who dyed the sixth of January, 1650. being ten years, six moneths, and four days old. Tutchin, Robert. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A95392 of text R212072 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.15[72]). 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. 3 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 A95392 Wing T3386 Thomason 669.f.15[72] ESTC R212072 99870724 99870724 163145 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. A95392) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 163145) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f15[72]) An elogy upon the much lamented death of Mr Luke Fawne, junior, who dyed the sixth of January, 1650. being ten years, six moneths, and four days old. Tutchin, Robert. 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n., [London : 1651] Verse - "I'm big with Grief, That I can onely vent". Signed at end: Robertus Tutchein [i.e. Robert Tutchin]. Imprint place from Wing. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng Fawne, Luke, 1640-1651 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Elegiac poetry, English. A95392 R212072 (Thomason 669.f.15[72]). civilwar no An elogy upon the much lamented death of Mr Luke Fawne, junior, who dyed the sixth of January, 1650. being ten years, six moneths, and four Tutchin, Robert 1651 428 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2007-06 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-06 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-07 Emma (Leeson) Huber Sampled and proofread 2007-07 Emma (Leeson) Huber Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion AN ELOGY UPON THE Much lamented Death of Mr Luke Fawne , junior , who dyed the sixth of January , 1650. being Ten Years , six Moneths , and four days old . I 'M big with Grief , That I can onely vent My Passion in a sad Astonishment : My Sorrows are turn'd rude , and do dispence A Fury greater , then thy Innocence . Could there be so great Guilt on such young Years , That justly could deserve these pious Tears ? Did the too partial Heavens but lend Thy Sight , Thus to engage us in Eternal Night ? Did they Thy Life on us at first bestow , Onely to make thee but a Ten Years Show ? But I have done ; Thou wert too good to be Continued in a Land of Miserie . We grieve Our Loss , not Thine ; for we 're left here To the sad Comfort of a sadder Tear . See how each Forehead 's furrow'd to a Frown , And every Eye its willing Tears drops down ; Mourning Thy Loss , as if the World and all Its Creatures suffer'd in Thy untimely Fall . Thy Loss is fatal to the World ; in Thee Nature has lost her highest braverie . Thy Parts in so young Years did strongly prove Thou wert her onely Darling , and her Love . How did Thy Sweetness extasie our Sense Into a wonder of Thy Excellence ! Thy Vertues were too great for to have grown In any clay besides what was Thine own . Thou wert the purest Dust , that e're was made T' enclose so bright a Soul within a Shade . — But Oh! it 's gone T' its last and greatest Dissolution . And our full Tears , at best , will prove to be But faint Drops of a Pious Extasie . Look back to th' Spring , and if you e're have seen Vntimely winds blast Trees scarce fully green , Know that our Loss is such , since He hath shown , E're a ripe Spring , such blossoms of his own . Fate sure past o're his years , and view'd his parts Arraign'd to th' Bar , not for his age , but arts . Whoever saw a loaded ear of Corn Not Earth-wards tend ? the empty upwards born : E're life they dye ; e're death thou life didst scorn . Piaetatis Ergò , sic cecinit , Robertus Tutchein .