An elegy and Epitapth, upon the Right Honourable the Lord FRANCIS VILLARS: Written by an affectionate Servant to his Family, Kinsman to his person, and Prisoner for the same Cause this Noble Lord so bravely died in.  
 depiction of skeleton and skull and crossbones  

WHat are the crying sins of this our State,  
Which such great losses cannot expiate?  
No sacrifice for sin (We know) is good,  
No propitiation can be without blood.  
But if we mix not tears with blood, we may  
Spend all our stock of loyal blood; not pay  
The debts we owe, but still increase the score:  
Let's add tears to our blood, and sin no more.  
Our thankless Kingdom's Antichristian grown,  
We cannot broke the mitre, nor the crown.  
Christ was anointed King, and Priest to show  
What duties we to God's Anointed owe.  
The people have set up two idols now,  
And made a Proclamation, all must bow  
Unto their idols which they did create,  
(Not God) the first a Hydra, called a State:  
Another idol, called a presbytery,  
As great a Monster in divinity.  
In heaven there is a monarchy (We know)  
Which is the Type of all these here below:  
So is the Church Christ's monarchy, and we  
Know all the world was Adam's monarchy.  
Let us then to offended Christ fall down.  
And beg of him the mitre and the crown  
May prosper still, for if these do not stand  
We lose the strength and glory of our Land,  
How dearly hath this quarrel England cost?  
How many loyal Subjects have we lost?  
This brave Lord who enriched great Rutland's blood,  
And made that better, was before so good.  
Nay, did the name of Buckingham sublime,  
Was cut off by our sins, scarce near his prime.  
Why should such Noble blood by such a hand  
Be shed, and guiltless blood pollute the Land?  
But pardon me, there were more hands than one,  
A Squadron joined; though he was left alone,  
This Noble Lord so like Great Caesar stood.  
The Earth was scarleted with loyal blood.  
So have I seen a peal of Axes fell  
A starely oak, ringing it's fatal knell,  
With direful blows, giving it many a wound.  
Such mercy at their hands this brave Lord found.  
They pleased themselves as much with every b●ow▪  
And wished that all great Lords might fall just so.  
Look too't my Lords in time! I am afraid  
The axe unto your root's already laid.  
They have deserved it, have abjured their King,  
Like those proud Rivers which deny their Spring.  
Besides the head abjured, do we not see  
They have cut off the Sacred hierarchy?  
Pray heaven (my Lords!) this Antichristian sin  
Bring not the Sacrilegious Levellers in.  
I love the King, such Levellers I hate  
Would not have Lords stand next the chair of State.    

Ad viatorem.  

STay passer by, and pay thy tear  
To him who lies entombed here;  
'Tis Villars, Buckingham's brave son,  
Who hath this goal of Honour won.  
No Champion at the Olympic Game,  
Ere gained a greater Stock of Fame.  
No loyal Subject to his King  
E'er did to grave more Honour bring.  
If thou be'st loyal, thus much know  
Thou tears to this sad shrine dost owe.  
This Noble Lord died in thy Cause,  
For God, his Church, his King, his laws.  
If thou a Covenanter be,  
Then far more tears are due from thee.  
For those who Covenanters are  
Engaged us in this bloody war.  
And sure no Contract can be good,  
Which must be sealed with loyal blood▪  
Then (like those meteor's travellers call  
The Indian Spouts) let your tears fall  
No more by drops, but raise a Flood  
Of tears, to wash away the blood.    

Aug: 4 Printed at LONDON, 1648.