An elegy upon the death of the Right Honourable Robert Devereux, late Earl of Essex, Lord general of the Parliaments Forces, who deceased the thirteen day of Sept. 1646.   funerary monument  
OH! Autnmne how hast thou began the fall,  
Our happy Summer being newly spent,  
Thou over turns the Tree with root and all,  
And shakes to us the fruit of discontent:  
Both Death and thee, conspired in one thing,  
To throw down that which flourished many a spring.  
The much Renowned Champion of our days,  
And most lamented (in our hemisphere,)  
For's Death, who in his life time gained such praise,  
As (till the World doth end) may perciviere,  
Though we have lost thy presence, yet thy fame,  
Shall ever be attending on thy Name:  
Which at the first of all did undertake  
To break the Ice, and lay the storm of war,  
Where he a passage did for others make,  
Who by their Fortunes now victorioas are:  
Always a Doer of his kingdoms good,  
A Friend to Peace, and slow in shedding Blood.  
Unto the State he proved a faithful Friend,  
Free from the blemish of unconstancy,  
Holding his Resolution to the end,  
Whilst others fell unto a posticy,  
Yet noble ESSEX still did justly deal,  
Both with the King, the State, and commonweal.  
His Love extended both to great and small,  
The greater than his loss (to rich and poor,)  
The soldiers sighing for their general,  
Whose presents here they're like to see no more,  
Devereux adieu, they shake their Heads and cry,  
Yet we're thy followers still, for all must die:  
As loving, so religious he was found,  
No Vice appeared to harbour in his breast,  
But honour, valour, mixed with judgement found,  
Which sends his soul unto eternal rest:  
This is our comfort, thou art happy there,  
Yet must we needs lament thy absence here.   

An acrostic on his Name.  

right Honourable, we thy tenants here,  
Over the tomb (of such a Noble peer,)  
Brings tears enough, whereby to rain a Shower,  
E xcelling those which from the Clouds do pour,  
Rich in thy life time, still ourselves we thought,  
Till Death, thy fat all end, our woes hath wrought.   

Death wherefore hast thou stolen our joys away,  
Earth why didst thou so gape, was he thy Prey,  
Are both of you Confederates in our grief,  
V nkind, to mankind, thus to take the chief  
Excepting Majesty, none went before  
Renovned ESSEX, nor hath been one more  
Victorious, yet did this Champion die,  
external Death, to gain Eternity.   

Thus from an earthly seat, unto a throw,  
Now his trancescendant soul from us is flown,  
Here leaving of our English Parliament,  
Unto a higher Court, in Heaven it went.    

LONDON, Printed by John Hammond.