AN elegy UPON The Death of that Renowned hero Coll. RAINSBORROW.  
WHO was most traitorously murdered on Monday Octob. 29.1648  
Something it was, that made the envious Stars  
To mutiny, and discord into wars,  
In that great Constellation— 48.  
Whose brows with curled flashings yet affright  
The reeling Universe: It was thy Fame,  
Thy peerless Valour and thy precious Name,  
O Rainsborrow, something it was the Sun,  
Did walk in mourning since thy day was done,  
In Sable Clouds, masking his glorious face,  
As loathing to behold that fatal place,  
Wherein thy righteous blood (yet reeking) cries  
Against those bloody Cain's butcheries.  
But didst thou die as fools, or were thy hands  
(The Twins of prowess) bracelted with bands?  
(Whereof each singer was a charm to still  
The balls of Death, and whole Campania's fill  
With palmed Trophies) No, as virtue fares  
Loathed by vicious hellborn councillors,  
Such was thy fall, such thy bewailed fate,  
Though blood-gorged Envy could but Antedate  
Thy mortal piece, shrine to that purer part,  
Not to be pensilled by seraphic Art.  
Therefore the Heavens, grown covetous to see  
The Earth enriched with such a gem as thee,  
Down glides a winged Cherub in all haste,  
To snatch thee hence, in triumph to be graced,  
A fixed Star; where though the Quires do sing  
For joy, we (Steeped in tears) our hands do wring  
Like melting Niobes, though from our eyes,  
Thy worth may claim as debt such sacrifice,  
Mirror of men, Arts abstract, soldier's glory.  
True grace's splendour, and sweet peace's story,  
Engine of war, a valour double edged.  
Not to be blunted, though with Armies hedged,  
(Nor durst grim Atropos, presumed thee harm,  
Had not the subtle hag, used Treasons Arm)  
Whom all succeeding Ages may admire  
Not imitate, yet there is living fire  
Within thy name, enough to blaze on high,  
Coward Succession, into Chivalry,  
Nor doth the languished Land lament alone,  
But Neptune's Court, where thy great name is known,  
Are all in mourning, there the sea-nymphs weep  
Vailing their beauties in the curled deep:  
The showers unto the Billows mourn, and they  
Unto the shores return, a Welladay.  
The burden of whose Eccoes passing knell  
Is this: A great Man's fall'n, in Israel.  
Farewell dear Patriot, since thou'rt gone, we have  
But two things to be proud of, first a Grave,  
And then thy name, in that we'll happy be,  
In this more Active through thy memory.  

And thus our tears of Joy and grief, we shed,  
Glad thou'rt in Heaven, yet sorry thou art Dead.   
Virtus post Funera. THO. ALLEYN.   

Printed at London for Robert Ibbitson. 1648.