A lamentable Ditty composed upon the Death of Robert Lord Devereux, late Earl of Essex, who was beheaded in the Tower of London, on Ashwenesday in the morning, 1600. To the tune of Welladay  

 
Sweet England's pride is gone,  
welladay, welladay,  
Which makes her sigh and groan  
evermore still:  
He did her fame advance,  
in Ireland Spain, and France,  
And now by dismal chance,  
is from us ta'en.   

He was a virtuous Peer,  
welladay, welladay,  
And was esteemed dear,  
evermore still:  
He always helped the poor.  
which makes them sigh full sore  
His death they do deplore,  
in every place.   

Brave honour graced him still.  
gallantly, gallantly,  
He ne'er did deed of ill,  
well it is known,  
But Envy that foul fiend,  
whose malice ne'er did end,  
Hath brought true virtue's friend  
unto his thrall.   

At Tilt he did surpass,  
gallantly gallantly,  
All men that is and was  
evermore still:  
One day as it was seen,  
in honour of our Queen,  
Such deeds hath ne'er been seen,  
as he did do.   

Abroad and eke at home,  
gallantly, gallantly,  
For valour there was none,  
like him before.  
In Ireland, France, and Spain,  
they feared great Essex name,  
And England loved the same,  
in every place.   

But all would not prevail,  
welladay, welladay,  
His deeds did not avail,  
more was the pity:  
He was condemned to die,  
for treason certainly,  
But God that sits on high,  
knoweth all things.   

That Sunday in the morn,  
welladay, welladay,  
That he to the City came,  
with all his troops:  
That first began the strife  
and caused him lose his life,  
And others did the like,  
as well as he,   

Yet her Princely Majesty,  
graciously, graciously,  
Hath pardon given free,  
to many of them:  
She hath released them quite,  
and given them their right,  
They may pray day and night,  
God to defend her.   

Shrevesunday in the night,  
welladay welladay,  
With a heavy hearted spirit.  
as it is said:  
The Lieutenant of the Tower,  
who kept him in his power  
At ten a Cloak that hour,  
to him did come.   

And said unto him there  
mournefully, mournefully,  
My Lord you must prepare,  
to dye to morrow.  
God's will be done quoth he,  
yet shall you strangely see,  
God strong in me to be,  
though I am weak.   

I pray you pray for me,  
welladay, welladay,  
That God may strengthen me,  
against that hour:  
Then straightway he did call  
to the Guard under the wall  
And did entreat them all  
for him to pray.   

For to morrow is the day,  
welladay, welladay,  
That I the dept must pay,  
which I do owe:  
It is my life I mean,  
which I must pay my Queen  
Even so hath justice given,  
that I must dye.   

In the morning was he brought  
welladay, welladay,  
Where a Scaffold was set up  
within the Tower:  
Many Lords were present then,  
with other Gentlemen,  
Which were appointed then,  
to see him die.   

You Noble Lords quoth he,  
welladay, welladay,  
That must the witness be,  
of this my death:  
Know I never loved Papistry,  
but still did it defy,  
And Essex thus will dye,  
here in this place,   

I have a sinner been,  
welladay, welladay,  
Yet never wronged my Queen,  
in all my life:  
My God I did offend,  
which grieves me at my end,  
May all the rest amend,  
I do forgive them.   

To the State I ne'er meant ill,  
welladay, welladay,  
Neither wished the Commons ill,  
in all my life:  
But loved all with my heart,  
and always took their part,  
Whereas there was desert,  
in any place   

Then mildly did he crave,  
mournefully, mournefully,  
He might that savour have,  
private to pray:  
He than prayed heartily,  
and with great fervency,  
To God that sits on high,  
for to receive him.   

And then he prayed again,  
mournfully, mournfully,  
God to preserve his Queen  
from all her foes:  
And send her long to reign,  
true justice to maintain,  
And not to let proud Spain.  
once to offend her.   

His Gown he slipped off then  
welladay, welladay,  
And put off his hat and band,  
and hung them by:  
Praying still continually,  
to God that sits on high,  
That he might patiently,  
there suffer death.   

My headsman that must be,  
than said he cheerfully,  
Let him come here to me,  
that I may him see,  
Who l●●●led to him then,  
art thou quoth he the man,  
Which art appointed now,  
my life to free.   

Yes my Lord did he say,  
welladay, welladay,  
Forgive me, I you pray,  
for this your death,  
I here do you forgive,  
and may true justice live,  
No foul crime to forgive,  
within their place.   

Then he kneeled down again,  
mournfully, mournfully,  
And was required by some  
there standing by  
To forgive his enemies,  
before death close his eyes,  
Which he did in hearty wise,  
thanking them for it.   

That they would remember him  
welladay, welladay,  
That he might forgive all them  
that had him wronged,  
Now my Lords I take my leave,  
sweet Christ my soul receive,  
Now when you will prepare,  
for I am ready.   

He laid his head on the bloke  
welladay, welladay,  
But his Doublet let the stroke,  
some there did say;  
What must be done quoth he,  
shall be done presently,  
Then his doublet off put he,  
and lay down again.   

Then his headsman did his part  
cruelly, cruelly,  
He was never seen to start,  
for all the blows:  
His soul it is at rest.  
in heaven amongst the blessed,  
Where God send us to rest,  
when it shall please him.   
FINIS.   

Printed at London for Cuthbert Wright and are to be sold at his shop in little Saint Bartholmes close to the Lame-Hospitall.