The Life and Death of the right Honourable, ROBERT, Earl of ESSEX, the Noble Branch of his thrice Noble Father.  
 
WHo shall assist me, whilst I show  
That which the world admires to know,  
The worth of Him, whose valiant Sire  
Moved great Eliza to desire,  
O thou Divinest, show to me;  
Add to my skill in Poesy;  
And grant, like to 
* Linus, so termed by Virgil.  Apollo's son,  
My Verse may smoothly, sweetly run.  
Before our Essex Father got  
Into that Cecil●s unknown hate,  
And ere his fatal hap it was  
With fierce Tyrone some words to pass,  
He was the wonder of his time,  
For virtue, Martial Discipline.  
Eliza great full oft did view,  
How fast her Knights he overthrew,  
When he, like Mars, in armour bright,  
Did shine, none durst be opposite.  
" But what on earth so firm may stand,  
" That Change it cannot countermand?  
" Or who is he can long subsist  
" In joy, and never taste of 
* sorrow  christ?  
" Even from the cottage to the Crown  
" The change of state full oft is shown;  
" So that there's nothing permanent,  
" Man's state's with joy and sorrow's 
* mingled  blended.  
His gracious favour with the Queen  
Incensed the ireful Lords to Spleen;  
So that they any vantage joyed  
To find 'gainst him, who now employed  
In taming of that rebel crew,  
His unadvised rashness drew  
A harsh Fate on him, and his Foe  
Rejoiced to see his overthrow.  
He leaving earth, his valiant Son  
To tread his Father's steps begun.  
And his rare virtues joyed more  
The Commons, than his Sires before;  
While all the earth his fame 'gan ring,  
His worthy praises echoing.  
What time alas our sins were high,  
When flourished all impiety,  
And for our crimes, our angry God  
Began scourge us with an iron rod,  
When brother did 'gainst brother arm.  
And soldiers began in Troops to swarm;  
" When England's Prince his charge forsook,  
" Cast out his friends, and Fautors took,  
Then our great Essex chosen was  
As fittest Leader, forth to pass  
Before that Army, whose great zeal  
Them tamed had, to serve the Weal  
Public, from being under brought  
To those its utter ruin sought.  
" As doth a Father, when his Son  
" Some heinous Fact, or crime hath done,  
" Doth scourge him, and if that not do,  
" Lays him in prison to his woe,  
" Yet hates him near the worse, but he  
" From Hell would his preserver be.  
So God, when he the Plague (his scourge)  
Had sent, repentance for to urge  
From us vile wretches, steeped in sin,  
Yet could not our affections win;  
Death on his pale horse he gave charge  
Thousands of souls for to enlarge,  
That those that would not here repent  
Their sins, might them in hell lament.  
And now each man his neighbour slays,  
The son to death his Sire betrays.  
And now a 
* at Edge-hill  Battles pitched, and they  
Desire the Fortune of the day:  
Great Essex, at his Army's head,  
With Speeches brave encouraged  
H●s valiant soldiers, and in fight  
He was the Foes first Opposite,  
And by his valour, to his fame,  
His 
* Truth is the King's soldiers that day shown themselves very valiant.  valiant Foes he overcame.  
So Scipio, when to free from thrall  
The Romans, vexed by Hannibal,  
Went forth, and that same scourge of Rome  
By valiant prowess overcome.  
But our brave Essex here gave over  
His warlike charge, and as before,  
(His haughty helmet laying by)  
His Robes of State he presently  
Put on, and now by counsel grave  
" The State's second time doth save.  
When he had lived so long, to see  
The gaining of that liberty  
Himself had striven for, and his Peers,  
When peace sang gently in his ears,  
O then, even then, Death reft away  
This Lord, to England's great dismay.  
" O Death! thou wert too much obdure  
" England's great loss so to procure,  
" thoust ta'en one Pillar clean away,  
" A prop most strong for England's stay.  
But why in vain do I deplore  
" His death, who by his loss hath store  
" Who now do sing unto the Three  
" Chanting celestial Harmony  
Amidst that glorious crew, who still  
Stand pressed, to act their Maker's will.  
" Sleep famous Essex in thine Urn,  
" While we wi●h tears thy loss do mourn.  
And let this Epitaph be writ  
Upon thy Tomb, to garnish it.  

(THE EPITAPH.)  
LEt no rude foot presume to tread,  
But with great awe, upon this Dead,  
" Lest that his Genius rise from hence,  
" And terrify his insolence.  
But Reader know, who ere thou be,  
Here Essex sleeps, whose Ancestry  
Were famous Worthies, all their worth  
Were joined in Him, and at his birth  
The Heavenly Motions did agree,  
Their best Infusements all should be  
Injected in him, that his Fame  
Might be his Heir, and keep his Name  
Alive on earth, and equalise  

* Achilles  His, whose resoundeth to the skies.    

LONDON, Printed for J. Pots in the great Old-Baily, near the Sessions-House. 1646.