An elegy on the death of William late Viscount Stafford, who was beheaded on Tower-Hill, on Wednesday, December 29th. 1680. / By a person of quality. Person of quality. 1681 Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). B03226 15604632 Wing E413 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.3[148] ESTC R36112 99890136 ocm99890136 182632

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B03226) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 182632) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A4:1[148]) An elegy on the death of William late Viscount Stafford, who was beheaded on Tower-Hill, on Wednesday, December 29th. 1680. / By a person of quality. Person of quality. 1 sheet ([1] p.). Printed for William Miller, at the Guilded Acorn in St. Paul's Church-Yard, where you may be furnished with most sorts of bound or stitched books, as Acts of Parliament, proclamations, speeches, declarations, letters, orders, commissions, articles of war or peace; as also books of divinity, church-government, sermons on most occasions, and most sorts of histories, poetry, plays, and such like, &c., London, : 1681. Verse: "When Sol had set his day at one at noon ..." Within mourning borders. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Stafford, William Howard, -- Viscount, 1614-1680 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Elegiac poetry, English -- 17th century. 2008-05 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-09 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-12 Sampled and proofread 2008-12 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
AN ELEGY On the Death of William late Viſcount Stafford, Who was Beheaded on TOWER-HILL, on Wedneſday, DECEMBER 29th. 1680. By a Perſon of Quality. WHen Sol had ſet his day at one at Noon, An Ancient Lord, of the Church of Rome Was executed, and there then did die For Treaſon great, againſt His Majeſty; Deſigning Government to overthrow, And Chriſtian Religion, to lay low, Whereby to turn, the whole Engliſh Nation Into Blood, Murder, Sword, and Conflagration, And to figure us of the Pope's die, To become Devils in Divinity. He's a Deceiver, from the beginning, And only learneth men, the Trade of ſinning; Shews them the Mountains, and exalts them high, Only to throw them headlong from the Sky; Like a cunning Fowler, ſtill his Nets doth lay For Night-Birds, Owles, while others flie away: So that the Priſoners pay for coming there, As Sparrows taken, by the Hawks in the Air; Ambition like, the ſoaring lofty Kite Flies ſtill ſo long, at laſt flies out of ſight, And by uſing of that violence ſtill, At laſt drops down, and falls by its own ill: So Vice gives all its Children, but a falſe Light, The Flame goes out, with an eternal Night. 'Tis ſtrange Religion, thus ſhould point to Blood, Therefore not ſo eaſily underſtood; Yet 'tis ſo, let us do what we can, So that it concerneth, nay every man; Becauſe, in dayly Fears, about our Lives, To loſe our Children, and our deareſt Wives; Nature ſtrives, ſtill, to preſerve it ſelf, As the gay Dutch-man, travels towards the Dolf: Looks that he's well provided to go on To take his Journey, whether ſhort or long; Therefore we all look after a Diſeaſe, That ſo recovered, we may take our eaſe; Since Health's the I lower of all Bleſſings high, As the Sun's the Coach-man of the Sky. This is a Cauſe, relates to our Religion, Who would have men, to be reaſonable; Yet teaches men, how ſecretly to act ill, And plays the Fool, with the rebellious Will; The Charms falſe, and only from the Devil, The great Mountebank of the whole World's evil, That ſtill draws on poor Souls to be undone, As Miſts are ſcattered by the brighter Sun: This therefore teaches us their artful Harms, To be aware, of ſuch like kind of Charms; Becauſe we ſee, all Vice is like an Eel, Which ſtill, doth trip up, its own natural heel; Like Darkneſs, pleas'd with its own diſmal hue, Glides off from Colours, that are brave and true: All men being pleaſed, with their own Actions ſtill, Whether they prove, for good, or whether ill, And as Light, is above the Darkneſs ſtill, So the High-born Engliſh, do fear no ill; Their Faith's in God, and their Manners high, That renders them the Allies of the Sky. We having then at length, no more to do, But affect good Manners, and none new; For Vices, we our ſelves, are given to, Things that do always, conjure up our Woe; That we ſhould no ſuch fatal Object be, To be lamented in Calamity; Since 'tis the Pleaſure, of the alwiſe Heaven, To make different Objects, not all even. In ſhort, does Languages teach men to be uncivil, Why then they'r the Goblins of the Devil; Who while they laugh, their Hearts another way, As falſe as Water-men, on every day; Yet Nature doth provide for each Diſeaſe, To find a Remedy, for us ſtill to eaſe. The Dog, when ſick, he goes unto the Graſs, And there lies down, and playing like an Aſs; At length grows well, and whisks he on again, As the brisk Coney, after a ſhower of Rain: Charity therefore, always doth begin at home, To look to our Enemies, the Church of Rome; To love our King, and to honour him ſtill, And to ſee our ſelves, be guilty of no ill; But like Travellers, go on the Golden Way Of the Proteſtant Truth, without the leaſt delay; For Heaven proves, moſt auſpicuouſly kind To men of Truth, and of a generous Mind; By ſaving, and protecting of them ſtill From the Devil, and his Accomplices of ill: Therefore we have reaſon, and that all To ſtudy to be juſt, both great and ſmall; Since Miſchiefs, as they fatten, ſtand in need Of to be purged, and gently ſtill to bleed; Therefore give Eare, and to Reaſon ſtill draw nigh, For Death has ended this Lord's Tragedy.
POSTSCRIPT. GEntlemen and Ladies, you did all ſee A Popiſh Lord in great Extremity, Suffering as an Example, to deter all, Not to deſign, their Native Countrey's fall: Therefore for a Light, was here hung in the way For all like Marriners, to make Holyday: Let us take warning then, ſo ſhall we be Happy both here, and to Eternity.
FINIS.

LONDON, Printed for William Miller, at the Guilded Acorn in St. Paul's Church-Yard, where you may be furniſhed with moſt ſorts of Bound or Stitched Books, as Acts of Parliament, Proclamations, Speeches, Declarations, Letters, Orders, Commiſſions, Articles of War or Peace; As alſo Books of Divinity, Church-Government, Sermons on moſt occaſions, and moſt ſorts of Hiſtories, Poetry, Plays, and ſuch like, &c. 1681.