THE Earl OF STRAFFORD HIS ELLEGIACK POEM, AS IT Was penned by his own hand a little before his Death.  

STate give me leave, and vex my thoughts no more,  
I have too much within me to deplore  
Myself, and it, who both oppressed do lie  
Subjected to a growing Anarchy.   

I have ploughed through my soul, & articled  
Against myself within me, I have read  
All my life over, to find out what sin  
Moved England's, Ireland's, & what Scotland's spleen,  
And dare convince their blinded rage who can  
Find in me errors more than speak me Man.  
'Tis dangerous to be great, Treason doth lie  
To be too gracious in a Prince's eye:  
Use your rage sharpest wit, for all your Art  
Though you my head, my King shall have my heart.   

Be wise, vicegerents, whose succeeding fate,  
Shall rear you up unto the height of State,  
The ladder shakes you climb on, every Round  
Is paved with icy fate, smiles on the ground  
From whence you rise, and, unadvised, you shall  
Find, if not sudden, yet a certain fall.   

My sin was too much loyalty, and when  
That times to come, as sure there will be Men,  
(Although this scanted Age vents none, but those  
Who of old Titles and new fashioned clothes  
Can boast, whose honest judgements do agree  
To love the King and fear his subsidy.)  
They, in disdain of their forefather's hate,  
Shall speak my virtues, and lament my Fate.   

You, you, than (happier nephews) what I tell  
So late, so true, accept as Oracle,  
Where ever Justice calls you, for my sake  
Be all your Demonstrations fair, nor make  
A bad distinction, by mistaken zeal  
T'your Prince, twixt him, and twixt his commonweal.   

Come nearer Death, and let's embrace! but you  
That with such care and jealousies pursue  
My spited soul, although my blood's no price  
To your wished peace, too weak a Sacrifice  
To expiate three kingdoms; yet from me  
Take this my last and perfectest legacy   

For all the service I have done the State,  
My early risings, and my sleeping late,  
For all those cares kept sad my charge, my long  
Zeal to my Prince, which you miscostered wrong,  
For all my labours, and in that pursuit  
My slaughtered honours, and my life to boot,  
Do this, and you shall by my counsel prove  
Happy on earth as I in Heaven above  
And though (for this shall your most comfort bring)  
You loved not me, yet love my Lord your King.   
FJNJS.   

Printed in the year, 1641.