A funeral Elegy upon the most honoured upon Earth, and now glorious in Heaven, His Excellency Robert Devereux Earl of Essex and Ewe, Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrer of Chartly Bourchier and Louvain, late general of England.  
What do our sighs and tears when Essex dies,  
They are for him but petty Obsequies.  
For when such Heroe's use to fall a sleep  
The drops of rain show that the heavens weep;  
And those huge storms, which since his death have fell  
Say that the world with very grief doth swell.  
As heavy breathings are thrown all about  
Puffing at what is left for what is out.  
What then do lines, why do the Muses try  
To groan out, not to speak thy elegy;  
And why does each profane hand to thy hearse  
Presume to offer up a mourning verse?  
Grief makes men cry, and each plebeian head  
Doth scan his sighs with pains not scanteled:  
The more we see, the more we see our loss;  
When all affairs are now upon the toss.  
Thy birth was Noble, but thy virtue more,  
Which in the house of fame hath laid a store  
That will endure whilst that a pen can run,  
Or mortal threads of life by fate be spun:  
Thy theme will Volumes fill, and thy fair shade,  
Of making books will urge a constant trade:  
Sorrow strikes dumb, in this we all are laid,  
I can say nothing, but I would have said.  
Henry Mill.   

LONDON Printed by John Macock for William Ley, and are to be sold at his shop at Paul's chain. 1646.