A FUNERAL elegy, Upon the Death of GEORGE SONDS, ESQ &c. Who was killed by his Brother, Mr. FREEMAN SONDS, August the 7th. Anno Dom. 1655.  By William Annand Junior, of Throwligh. 
Whereunto is annexed a PRAYER, Compiled by his sorrowful Father Sir GEORGE SONDS, and used in his Family during the Lafe of the said FREEMAN.  

REach me a Handcerchiff; Another yet,  
And yet another, for the last is wet;  
Nay now a Glass, to bottle up my tears,  
For present pressing griefs, and future fears.  
Could sighs, could groans, could sobs, or ought revoak,  
That sudden, fatal, fearful, deadly stroke?  
The Muses should be summoned in by force,  
And spend their All, upon his wounded corpse,  
Could measured lines, griefs infinite display?  
The sacred Nine, with Him who rules the Day,  
And all who in immortal Thrones reside;  
In spite of greatness, should a charge abide,  
To consecrate, and to adorn his Hearse,  
Revive his life, and club unto a Verse.  
Or then let Sable darkness, canoped in night,  
Eeclipse them all for ever. Here's a fight  
That ripens sorrow, breaks op' Griefs magazine,  
Horrors great store-house—, compassed in his Shrine,  
Of life, of sense, all are dispossessed,  
And by one Dagger, lo each heart is peirc'd.   

Thy death, thy death, dear soul, might wonder move,  
How the Old Serpent, thus should kill the Dove.  
Thy habits so refulgently did shine,  
That we knew ●ought, but what was thought divine.  
In thy expyring, it was made appear  
In bloody Wounds, the 
* He was slabed with a Three edged Dagger, so that the wounds were Triangular.  trinity was clear.  
The gates through which thy fertile soul did mount  
To blessed abodes, came to the full account  
Of Twelve, or four times three, And three  
" Hath ever in it some great My steric.   

Nor was it for thy good, dear heart,  
That Heaven thus suffered man to act his part.  
But as God's hand maid Nature, doth not eye,  
Nor this, nor that, but all in part doth spy:  
So here God acts, in manner so so ample,  
That All may have thee; always for example  
Of this life's frailty, most stupid here may know,  
" There's no abiding City, here below.  
Behold the reaking blood, heart signed with murder stains,  
Wisdoms great Citadel defaced, empty veins,  
Of one so young, so good, so loved of all,  
After the closure of a festival.  
So gentle, modest, rich, discreet and wise,  
In dawning of his youth to close his eyes!  
None more in Grace, in Speech, in featur,  
Destroyed, 'cause none in Grace, in Speech, was greater.  
The best of sons, heirs, Friends, of Masters,  
Thus bathed in his own blood; O sad disasters!  
Good God, what can, what shall, man's frailty think,  
When thy great goodness, at this Act did wink?  
But thou art just, perhaps thou thought'st it sit,  
And Lord unto thy Judgement I submit.   
Rest happy Soul above,  
with God in Love;  
Where malice, hate, is out of date.  
Expecting still the end  
That Pious souls attend.  Vivet Post funera virtue.  

A Prayer made by Sir GEORGE SONDS, for his Son FREEMAN SONDS; used in his own Family so long as be was living.  
LORD we beseech thee, look down in Mercy on that most miserable and unhappy creature of thine (Freeman Sonds) Lord soften his hard and stubborn heart. LORD give him a true sight of this his most heinous and bloody sin. Lord give him grace to cry unto thee by true and unfeigned Repentance, that so thou mayst have mercy on his poor soul. Thou art the fountain of mercy, and all flows from thee. His Father, upon his earnest desire, though he hath killed (oh foully killed) his dear son, and ruined him in all his hopes, hath Pardoned him. Oh do thou then, O father of Mercy, in that said hour of his death, receive him in thy arms of Mercy, that his sad Father may yet have this comfort, That though thou hast made him childless, and left him not one son on Earth alive; yet which is much better, they live with thee in Heaven, in eternal bliss. Dear Father grant us our request and that for thy beloved son Jesus his sake, our LORD and only Saviour. Amen.   

London, Printed by John crouch. 1655.