A funeral elegy On the unfortunate death of that worthy Major EDWARD GREY, July 26. 1644.  

Anagram.  
Regard I die.  
No longer i shall foil the Cavalry:  
But be ye watchful, stout, regard, I die.   

SAd Prodigy I Can famous valiant Grey  
Thus silently slide to his bed of Clay?  
Return our sorrows, sigh we forth a Verse,  
May deck the Pomp, and mournings of his hearse.  
But 'twere detraction to suppose a tear,  
A Sigh, or Blacks, which the sad Mourners wear,  
Our loss could value: He that names but thee,  
Must bring an Eye, that can weep elegy:  
Who in his face must wear a funeral,  
Clouded with grief for thy untimely fall.  
What ill aspected Planet then did lower?  
Which then transcendent in that fatal hour?  
The splendent sun could not look on and shine,  
But's clouded, whiles thy glory did decline.  
Hath ireful Mars his spiteful influence bent  
'Gainst his own son? He's still malevolent.  
Thy part t''ve acted well; but tragedy  
Ill proved, having a sad Catastrophe.  
Thy sable curtain was too soon o'erspread,  
Even at thy noon to bring thee to thy bed.  
Unlucky hand, and heart with fury fired,  
Which passage made whereby thy soul expired.  
Yet we applaud the wisdom of thy fate,  
Which knew to value thee at such a rate,  
That for thy fall an hecatomb it cost,  

colonel Mynne shine the same day.  And Mynne was offered to appease thy ghost.  
Thou needst no gilded tomb, whereon t' engrave,  
The name of worthy Grey, which thou shalt have,  
So long as Glouc'ster shall that name retain,  
Besieged erst by Britain's Charlemaigne.  
Thy conqueting arm made thy stout foe to yield;  
Thy Sword had won the Trophies in the field.  
Thy coat speaks thy high birth, but thine own praise  
Shall crown thine arms with never-fading bays.  
See the Argent-Lyon which hath Rampant stood,  
Now Couchant lie in Field of Gules and Blood.  
The Crescent Or, Grey's second House doth mark,  
Of famous ancestry the House of Werke:  
But now decrescent is, it's Or's or'espread  
With Colour Sable, Or is turned to Lead.  
Farewell heroic spirit, who art to be  
Of public sorrow the epitome;  
All sigh forth groans, methinks the Coats of blue  
Are strangely changed into a Sable hew.  
But sorrow stops me, and my grief's undressed,  
And rude in language I'll sigh out the rest.   
J. A.   

EDWARD GREY, Major. Anagrams III  

I.  
Though just reward 'mongst men I never may  
Attain, yet sure God's my rewarder ay.   

II.  
For of Eternity I'm not discarded,  
Though hencefrom men I may go irrewarded.   

III.  
Though great I was, now in the dust I lie.  
Great ones yourselves, regard, a worm I die.   Respice sinem. Psal. 22.6. Job 25.6.  

Chronog. stren Ws, & eXpert us MaIor Grey CaDIt & eXpIra VIt. 1644.  
J. A.   

Printed at London for 〈…〉 the old bailiff. 1644.