AN ELEGY UPON the unhappy loss OF THE NOBLE EARL OF ESSEX.  
LONDON, Printed for John Benson, and are to be sold at his shop in Dunstanes Church-yard. 1646.   

An Elegy on the Death of the noble Earl of Essex.  

I Need no fatal quill that has the art  
At every line it writes to break an heart:  
For when I shall but once begin t' express  
The public cause, and subject of my verse,  
More motives may be spared our unstrained grief  
Will need no provocation; but relief.  
Essex is dead. What thunder strikes our ears,  
Threatening an inundation of tears?  
This is a judgement more than we conceived,  
To be by our best hope the most deceived:  
And that the Noble Cause of our Redress,  
Should now be so of our extreme Distress.  
Or is it a mercy, since Heaven did intent  
At last, an exiled peace back t' us to send?  
Thus to make way, by softening our hard hearts  
By such a blow; which the successive darts  
It shot at our own persons, could not pierce  
Who ne'er had wept but at his frown or hearse.  
That we exchanging for new grief, old hate;  
(Though senseless of our own) might mourn his fate;  
That tears begun for loss might end for sin,  
And hearts twice broke let peace and mercy in.   

But is he gone from us! Injurious Death  
Hast thou deprived him of that purer breath  
Than quickens vulgar lumps; I then could wish,  
That old Pythagoras' Metempsychosis  
Were not a fable, that the world might boast  
A second Phoenix, now the first is lost.  
When England lost its darling in the fate  
Of his loved Father (though unfortunate  
In their desires) their hopes did still survive,  
Whilst he had left so brave a Son alive.  
Whose early youthful blossoms did presage  
Most glorious fruits in his more riper age  
But all that then was hoped was that the Son  
Should keep that honour which his Father won.  
But he not bounded by strict precedent  
His, as all other patterns quite out went.  
Compleatest acts of ancient Hero's were  
The essays of his youth, whereon to rear  
Fame's highest Stories, their great aims were found  
His first attempts, their battlements his ground.  
So that great Essex's name is greater grown  
By his Sons honour added to his own.  
For even in them was long time verified  
What's said of Kings, for Essex never died  
Till now. But now the Title too is gone  
A Title men will tremble to put on  
Though offered; since it strongly does oblige  
To courage, council, combat, storming, siege,  
Devotion, Temperance, and what ever can  
Render the wearer a most perfect man.  
And surely, had Heaven blest us but so much  
As with a Son of his, he had been such:  
This envious fiends suspected, and did try  
Their utmost skill to bar him progeny.   

But he shall live in his more lasting name  
Borne on the wings of neverdying Fame.  
No Chronicler shall need to write his praise  
In mouldy parchment left to after-days  
For as the holy Patriarches Religion  
Was lest to them by long-derived tradition;  
So shall his acts be handed to those men  
Are yet unborn, and they the same again  
shall tell their children's Children, till it grow  
Part of their education to do so.  
In his poor Cottage by a Winter fire  
To his great granchildrens shall the aged fire  
From's easy chair relate the ancient stories  
Of his exploits and virtues; whilst he glories  
T' have trailed a pike at Keinton, or received  
A shot at Reading, or when 'twas relieved  
T' have marched to Gloster, than the memory  
Of that unparallelled Newb'ry victory  
Shall cause him rake his embers, and proceed  
To tell the General's virtue as his deed.  
" And yet my Children, though all this did he  
" He courted not the people's cap or knee.  
" Their praise or dispraise he did not regard,  
" Virtue that set him on was his reward.  
" And though he had (yet was) been praised by none;  
" He durst in spite of all be good alone.  
" He moved by his own principles, for 'tis known  
" He was not wrought by Royal smile or frown.  
" Like to the trusty Sun he kept his line  
" Pursuing still his first and known design,  
" He was not made for changes, nor could lend  
" An I. in Parliament for a by-end.  
" If he had foes they durst not make't appear,  
" His frown alone would strike them dead with fear.  
" And if they wisp'rd any thing amiss  
" They guard his name with a parenthesis.  
" Still [He was faithful] who so e'er offended  
" 'tis much to be by All so well commended.  
" But they were wise; who durst the same deny  
" Sure he was  and resolved to die.  
" Who so durst meet him, durst do more than Death  
" That ravished not, but stole away his breath  
" Ah treacherous coward that didst slily creep  
" At unawares, to kill him in his sleep.   

Now Noble Peers after his Hearse march on,  
Mourn as you go, your great exampl's gone.  
And you grave Patriots learn to know your loss,  
He was your blessing whom some thought your cross.  
You reverend Synod, cannot choose but shed  
Some Funeral tears since your stout Patron's dead.  
And you brave Soldiers will have moistened eyes  
For he is fallen by whom you all did rise.  
Weep Widows weep, he's gone that was of late  
Your most indulgent, constant Advocate.  
And you that once were foes some tears bestow  
On your own selves, your fines will not be low.  
Weep England now, thou seest thy Champion's end,  
Scotland weep too, for thou hast lost a Friend.  
But Ireland most of all, express thy grief  
For he is dead that longed to send relief.  
Weep Virtue too, for thou a Widow art,  
And well may'st act the chiefest mourners part:  
And Envy weep, and starve, now he is gone  
Thou'lt scarce find goodness here to feed upon.    

An Epitaph on the Earl of Essex.  

BOast Marble, that concealest this Dust  
Not of thy lastingness, but Trust.  
Ten thousand unto thee shall bring  
Of vowed tears their offering.  
The driest eye shall drop a Gem  
T' enrich death's envied Diadem.  
To thine, great Essex's Memory  
Shall add it's own eternity:  
Thereby thou shalt thyself out last  
Which else, like other stones, wouldst waste  
And mix thy Dust with them, that deep  
Thou unprofaned now dost keep.  
Nay Death itself will sure prevent  
Of His and Essex Monument  
The least decay: For near did he  
More glory in a victory.  
On thee Death sits in state, and braves  
Himself more than on neighbour-graves.  
To kill a Prince, or Duke, or so,  
Is counted but Death's common blow.  
But when he slew brave Essex, he  
Did triumph o'er Humanity.  
The Virger that's wont to relate  
This Prince's valour, that's estate,  
The virtuous life and famous acts  
Of Peers deceased, the extracts  
Of every noble Family;  
May find all in Epitome:  
And save the labour of Retail  
And tell the people, HERE LIES, ALL.   
Th. Twiss.