A mournful ELEGY upon the three Renowned worthies, Duke HAMILTON, the Earl of HOLLAND, and the ever to be honoured Lord CAPEL, who were Tyrannically murdered by a usurped illegal Power of the wicked Court of Injustice, and pretended Parliament, upon Friday, the 9 of March, 1649. In the Palace-yard before Westminster-Hall-Gate.  
AWake my Muse in a sad Elegy,  
T'relate the murdering Acts of Tyranny,  
A once known vice, but now a virtue made,  
And ushered in by those who 're not afraid  
Of Heaven nor Hell, of death nor judgement sure,  
There seared consciences do sleep secure;  
With hands imbrued in blood of Innocents,  
With hearts remorseless, and with souls condence,  
Harder than flint, or rather adamant,  
Killing the Father, careless of th' Infant;  
Making poor widows comfortless abroad  
To wander with their Children t'seek abode,  
In foreign Lands, being bereft of goods,  
Lands, houses, rents, yes and their husband's bloods,  
spilled by base traitors to inebriate  
Their thirsty souls, whose stomach's ne'er abate,  
But still are dry, and do again desire  
More loyal blood to quench that burning fire,  
Of hell's instigation which within  
Their envious bosoms hath this long time been  
Kept close and smothered, wanting power to vent,  
What hath this many years been their intent;  
Till now at length our sins and vile transgression  
Hath moved our God, t'permit them with oppression,  
Rapes, plunder, murder, tyranny, what not  
Well nigh the Name of KING amongst us t' blot,  
But this our comfort's we 'ave a sovereign God,  
Who when he 'as scourged us, he will burn the rod:  
But what doth this avail us? oh! alas!  
Whilst that our glory doth from 'mongst us pass,  
What shall we do? alas! let's howl and weep  
To see our loyal Nobles, killed like Sheep;  
Slaughtered by Rebels, who like Wolves devour  
And seek new ways t' entrap them every hour  
With subtle begins and snares of Tabor laid  
Like Fowlers which are wont to that trade,  
Mispah's the hill whereon these tyrant's play,  
But all the Land they make Akeldema:  
Come then join issue that Aonian Band,  
Distil the sad complaints into my hand,  
With mournful Muse complete my doleful Pen  
T' bewail the loss of these three Noblemen;  
First HAMILTON, who though he was a Scot  
Was honest to his KING, therefore forgot;  
He ne'er shall be for to's immortal fame,  
Sad Elegies shall be writ on his Name;  
Then drop a tear, and stain this Paper now  
To see how Loyalty is made to bow  
By base Rebellion, oh! with watery eyes  
Let each true Subject read these Elegies,  
Of famous HAMILTON, and both the other  
Who shall in order follow one the tother:  
Of him (because a Scot) I'll say no more,  
But will the Earl of HOLLAND'S death deplore;  
Who is our countryman, and aught to be  
Beloved, though blemished, with disloyalty;  
Whether deserved or no I cannot tell,  
But of the dead, I'll nothing say, but well:  
His actions at the last, did prove him t'be  
A lover of his King's Posterity:  
And this is truth, then let black envy bark,  
And spit its venom, it will miss the mark;  
For his fame will aye endure, and he  
Will sure be taken for an Enemy;  
traitors, and Rebels, and with loyal tears,  
He'll be lamented as the murdered Peers,  
Of England, will be; who, t' serve the KING did die,  
The only badge of true Nobility;  
What can be more expected from one's friend  
Then t' give his life his Person to defend,  
All which was done by these forementioned Lords,  
Whose loyalty both grief and joy affords;  
T' each honest heart, even the flintyest stone,  
Lying in th' streets, with drops of dew bemoan:  
Our murdered Nobles offering tears to shed  
To see Nobility thus ruined:  
Their houses tattered, look like as forlorn,  
The pleasant Birds that chirpt upon each thorn,  
Do seem to hang their wings, and cease to sing  
Aught but doleful notes, for our lost KING:  
And His true Subjects who have death disdained,  
And by their valours, honour have obtained;  
Which would endure with them t' eternity  
If possible the world so long could be:  
And so I'll leave them both to speak of him,  
Who hath substance of true valour been,  
Renowned CAPEL, whose undaunted spirit  
Amongst his greatest Foes did honour merit;  
Whose actions manifested him to be  
A second Hector, or more in degree,  
Hated by Achilles, 'cause his fame  
Did seem to blemish great Achilles name;  
Therefore with's myrmidon's, he murdered quite  
That worthy Hector to increase his light,  
But come you Muses nine Melpomene  
And your dread Mother sad Mnemosyme,  
For to lament brave CAPEL'S death combine  
With eyes distilling tears, of crystal fine,  
heaven's weep your fill, and if the rocks be dry▪  
Lend water to them all their wants t' supply,  
For if I had th' monopoly of tears  
I'd shed them all for these three murdered Peers,  
And for my faults I wish that I could dip  
My pen in Helicon or Aganip,  
Then I could justly claim the honour t' be  
The author of bold CAPEL'S Elegy;  
But tears do stop my Genius, and my heart  
O' recharged with sorrow, and possessed with smart,  
For such a noble Worthy, whose brave deeds  
May be a mirror unto him that reads,  
In after Ages and may cause them then,  
T'observe bold CAPEL as the best of men;  
Then let both hills and rocks echo amain  
Hadaddrimmons, mourning on Megiddons plain,  
As for Josia's t'did that Champion bold,  
So now for CAPEL, who is dead and cold,  
Why howl the Fir-trees on Mount Lebanon,  
Are all the stately Cedars felled and gone?  
No, no, alas! they're but removed  
Into a better soil, where they're beloved:  
No envy there's amongst them but true glory,  
Therefore with confidence I'll write their story;  
And shall desire each eye if not of flint  
To melt itself with sorrow, and to hint  
A show of grief, and doleful tears distil  
Upon the earth, or else the Heavens will  
Water the plants with showers of greatest rain  
For him whose Fellow, we's ne'er have again:  
CAPEL, the wellspring of true valour decked  
With loyalty, and a just true respect  
Of's country's good, and of his sovereign's Cause,  
Scorning t' submit himself to Rebels laws,  
Was murdered by them; but my comfort's this,  
He now enjoies his God in heaven's bliss:  
Where he with Angels pure, by God's permission  
May sit in judgement, and send to perdition  
Bradshaw, Steel, Cook, ask, Dorislow, and th' rest,  
Who did our KING, and's Subjects all divest  
Of's regal Power: So give me leave to end,  
And to God's judgements, traitors t' recommend.   

Printed in the first year of Rebellious Liberty, and democratical Tyranny. 1649.