An elegie upon the death of our dread soveraign Lord King Charls the martyr.

An elegie upon the death of our dread soveraign Lord King Charls the martyr.

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An Elegie upon the Death of Our Dread Soveraign Lord King CHARLS the MARTYR.

[Page]

An Elegie upon the Death of Our Dread Soveraign Lord King CHARLS the MARTYR.

COm, com, let's Mourn; all eies, that see this Daie,

Melt into Showrs, and Weep your selvs awaie:

O that each Private head could yield a Flood

Of Tears, whil'st Britain's Head stream's out His Blood;

Could wee paie what His Sacred Drops might claim,

The World must needs bee drowned once again.

Hands cannot write for Trembling; let our Eie

Supplie the Quill, and shed an Elegie.

Tongues cannot speak; this Grief know's no such vent,

Nothing, but Silence, can bee Eloquent.

Words are not here significant; in This

Our Sighs, our Groans bear all the Emphasis.

Dread SIR! What shall wee saie? Hyperbole

Is not a Figure, when it speak's of Thee:

Thy Book is our best Language; what to this

Shall e're bee added, is Thy Meiösis:

Thy Name's a Text too hard for us: no men

Can write of it, without Thy Parts and Pen.

Thy Prisons, Scorns, Reproach, and Povertie

(Though these were thought too courteous Injurie)

How could'st Thou bear? Thou Meeker Moses, how?

Was ever Lion bit with Whelps till now

And did not roar? Thou England's David, how

Did Shimei's Tongue not move Thee? Where's the Man?

Where is the King? CHARLS is all Christian.

Thou never wanted'st Subjects, no; when they

Rebell'd, Thou mad'st Thy Passions to obeie.

Had'st Thou regain'd Thy Throne of State by Power,

Thou had'st not then been more a Conqueror.

But Thou, thine own Soul's Monarch, art above

Revenge and Anger, Can'st Thou tame Thy Love?

How could'st Thou bear Thy Queen's Divorce? must Shee

At once Thy Wife, and yet Thy Widdow bee?

Where are Thy tender Babes once Princely bred,

Thy choicest Jewels, are They Sequestred?

Where are Thy Nobles? Lo, in stead of these

Base savage Villains, and Thine Enemies:

Egyptian Plague! 'twas onely Pharaoh's doom,

To see such Vermin in His Lodging-room.

What Guards are set, what Watches do they keep?

They do not think Thee safe, though lock't in Sleep.

Would they confine Thy Dreams within to dwell,

Nor let Thy Fancie pass their Centinel

Are Thy Devotions dangerous? Or do

Thy Praiers want a Guard? These faultie too?

Varlets, 't was onely, when they spake for You.

But lo a Charge is drawn, a Daie is set,

The silent LAMB is brought, the Wolves are met.

Law is arraign'd of Treason, Peace of War,

And Justice stand's a Prisoner at the Bar.

This Scene was like the Passion-Tragedie,

His Saviour's Person none could Act, but Hee.

Behold what Scribes were here, what Pharisees!

What bands of Souldiers! What fals witnesses!

Here was a Priest, and that a Chief one; who

Durst strike at God, and His Vicegerent too.

Here Bradshaw, Pilate there: This make's them twain,

Pilate for Fear, Bradshaw condemn'd for Gain.

Wretch! could'st not thou bee rich, till Charls was dead?

Thou might'st have took the Crown, yet spar'd the Head.

Th' hast justifi'd that Roman Judg; Hee stood

And washt in Water, thou hast dipt in Blood.

And where's the Slaughter-Hous? White-hall must bee,

Lately His Palace, now His Calvarie.

Great CHARLS, is this Thy Dying-place? And where

Thou wer't our KING, art Thou our MARTYR there?

Thence, thence Thy Soul took flight; and there will wee

Not ceas to Mourn, where Thou did'st ceas to Bee.

And thus, blest Soul, Hee's gon: a Star, whose fall,

As no Eclips prove's Oecumenical.

That Wretch had skill to sin, whose Hand did know

How to behead three Kingdoms at one blow.

England hath lost the Influence of Her KING,

No wonder that so backward was Her Spring.

O dismal Daie! but yet how quickly gon?

It must bee short, Our SUN went down at Noon.

And now, yee Senators, is this the Thing

So oft declar'd; Is this your Glorious King?

Did you by Oaths your God, and Countrie mock,

Pretend a Crown, and yet prepare a Block?

Did you, that swore you'd Mount CHARLS higher yet,

Intend the Scaffold for His Olivet?

Was this, Hail Master? Did you bow the knee

That you might murder Him with Loialtie?

Alas! two Deaths! what Crueltie was this?

The Ax design'd, you might have spar'd the Kiss.

London, did'st thou Thy Prince's Life betraie?

What? could thy Sables vent no other waie?

Or els did'st thou bemoan His Cross? then, ah!

Why would'st thou bee the cursed Golgotha?

Thou once hadst Men, Plate, Arms, a Treasurie

To binde thy KING, and hast thou none to free?

Dull beast! thou should'st, before thy Head did fall,

Have had at least thy Spirits Animal.

Did You, Yee Nobles, envie CHARLS His Crown?

Jove beeing fal'n the Punie-gods must down:

Your Raies of Honor are eclip'st in Night,

The Sun is set, from whence You drew your Light.

Religion Vail's her self; and Mourn's that shee

Is forc'd to own such horrid Villanie.

The Church and State do shake; that Building must

Exspect to fall, whose Prop is turn'd to Dust.

But ceas from Tears. CHARLS is most blest of men;

A God on Earth, more then a Saint in Heav'n.

⟨June 16 1644⟩

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

An elegie upon the death of our dread soveraign Lord King Charls the martyr.

Edition statement

1649

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A85676

ID [STC]

Wing G1890A

ID [STC]

Thomason 669.f.14[42]

ID [STC]

ESTC R211177

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99869909

ID [PROQUEST]

99869909

ID [VID]

163030

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Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A85676)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 163030)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f14[42])

Source

— An elegie upon the death of our dread soveraign Lord King Charls the martyr.,

Extent

1 sheet ([1] p.)

s.n.,. [London :: 1649]. (Imprint from Wing.) (In verse - "Com, com let's mourn; all eies, that see this Daie,".) (Annotation on Thomason copy: "June 16 1649".) (Reproduction of the original in the British Library.)

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