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         Brunsell, Samuel, 1619 or 20-1688.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A77717 of text R175629 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing B5232A). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
         2017
         A77717
         Wing B5232A
         ESTC R175629
         45578191
         ocm 45578191
         172145
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A77717)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 172145)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 2615:40)
      
       
         
           
             A fvnerall elegie vpon the mvch lamented death of that most reverend, pious, and judiciovs divine John Polyander of Kerckhoven, doctor and cheife [sic] professor of divnitie [sic] in the famous Vniversitie of Leyden, and there the 8th time magnificus rector.
             Brunsell, Samuel, 1619 or 20-1688.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.).
           
             s.n.,
             [S.l. :
             ca. 1646]
          
           
             Signed: Samuel Brunsell.
             Date of publication suggested by Wing.
             Reproduction of original in the Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Polyander à Kerckhoven, Johannes, 1568-1646.
           Elegiac poetry, English.
           Broadsides -- England -- 17th century.
        
      
    
       A77717  R175629  (Wing B5232A).  civilwar no A fvnerall elegie vpon the mvch lamented death of that most reverend, pious, and judiciovs divine John Polyander of Kerckhoven, doctor and c Brunsell, Samuel 1646    455 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text  has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription.  
        2008-07 TCP
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        2008-07 SPi Global
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
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        2008-09 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
       
         
           A
           FVNERALL
           ELEGIE
           
             VPON
             THE
             MVCH
             LAMENTED
             DEATH
          
           OF
           THAT
           MOST
           REVEREND
           ,
           PIOUS
           ,
           AND
           JUDICIOVS
           DIVINE
           JOHN
           POLYANDER
           OF
           KERCKHOVEN
           ,
           DOCTOR
           AND
           CHEIFE
           PROFESSOR
           OF
           DIVNITIE
           IN
           THE
           FAMOUS
           VNIVERSITIE
           OF
           LEYDEN
           ,
           And
           there
           the
           8th
           time
           MAGNIFICUS
           RECTOR
           .
        
         
           
             WHat
             's
             seldome
             seene
             makes
             wonder
             :
             Then
             admir'd
          
           
             His
             
               life
            
             must
             bee
             ,
             whose
             
               Lease
            
             so
             late
             expir'd
             .
          
           
             But
             Death
             is
             Common
             .
             True
             ;
             yet
             soe
             to
             die
          
           
             Or
             live
             ,
             transcends
             the
             common
             destinie
          
           
             Of
             mortalls
             :
             None
             so
             free
             from
             blame
             or
             sin
             ,
          
           
             That
             most
             admire
             hee
             'd
             not
             immortall
             beene
             .
          
           
             And
             so
             hee
             is
             ;
             while
             neuer-dyinge
             Fame
          
           
             Fat
             he
             winde
             ,
             or
             wing
             ,
             or
             trumpe
             to
             sound
             his
             name
             .
          
           
             But
             (
             since
             wee
             finde
             a
             change
             in
             things
             belowe
          
           
             Which
             some
             call
             Death
             ,
             and
             fewe
             desire
             to
             knowe
             ,
          
           
             When
             two
             deare
             consorts
             part
             ,
             and
             must
             remove
          
           
             Though
             closely
             knit
             in
             euer
             constant
             love
             )
          
           
             Tell
             mee
             Great
             soule
             ,
             what
             made
             〈◊〉
             quit
             the
             seat
          
           
             Of
             thy
             soe
             long
             abode
             ?
             Did
             burning
             heat
          
           
             Consume
             it
             ?
             No
             .
             Wa'st
             
               cold
               ?
            
             That
             drives
             all
             in
             ,
          
           
             Andwilt
             thou
             out
             ?
             woulde
             it
             had
             warmer
             been
             !
          
           
             The
             pillars
             firme
             ,
             the
             Fabrick
             stood
             upright
             ,
          
           
             Noe
             prop
             supportinge
             it
             ;
             the
             windowes
             light
             ,
          
           
             Noe
             senseles
             sense
             :
             Those
             
               organs
            
             all
             in
             tune
             ,
          
           
             And
             thou
             theyr
             
               Harmonye
               ,
            
             but
             breathles
             ,
             soone
          
           
             That
             musick
             stopt
             expires
             ,
             confused
             noise
          
           
             Succeeds
             ,
             and
             mixt
             with
             greif's
             lamenting
             voice
             ,
          
           
             Sighs
             ,
             sobs
             &
             cries
             ,
             fret
             the
             tormented
             aire
          
           
             Chok't
             with
             complaints
             of
             sadnesse
             and
             despaire
             ;
          
           
             While
             freinds
             bewaile
             a
             freinde
             whome
             none
             did
             spite
          
           
             But
             that
             unletterd
             foul-mouth'd
             Carmelite
             .
          
           
             Children
             a
             tender
             Father
             ,
             and
             a
             wife
          
           
             Her selfe
             in
             him
             that
             was
             her
             soule
             and
             life
             :
          
           
             His
             flock
             a
             watchfull
             Pastor
             ,
             wandring
             youth
          
           
             A
             certaine
             guide
             ;
             and
             thou
             nere-conquerd
             
               Truthe
            
          
           
             A
             valiant
             Champion
             to
             defend
             thy
             right
          
           
             '
             Ganist
             hell-scortcht
             Atheists
             which
             would
             dimme
             the
             light
          
           
             Of
             that
             
               God-Sonne
            
             of
             Heauen
             .
             Schollers
             greive
          
           
             His
             death
             by
             whome
             theyr
             priviledge
             did
             live
             :
          
           
             And
             nowe
             theyr
             sun's
             Eclip'st
             .
             Flie
             chearfull
             light
             ,
          
           
             Or
             wrapt
             in
             clouds
             of
             an
             infernall
             night
          
           
             Hang
             all
             the
             world
             in
             black
             !
             Some
             wanton
             eye
          
           
             Might
             Else
             perhaps
             theyr
             nakednesse
             espie
             .
          
           
             Thus
             all
             lament
             ,
             but
             
               Hee
            
             triumphant
             sings
          
           
             Sweet
             Hallelujahs
             to
             the
             King
             of
             Kings
             .
          
           
             Much
             haue
             wee
             lost
             ,
             but
             hee
             much
             more
             hathe
             won
             ,
          
           
             Wee
             sawe
             the
             candle
             ,
             hee
             beholds
             the
             Sun
             .
          
           
             Hee
             's
             glad
             ,
             wee
             sad
             ;
             and'tis
             a
             common
             crosse
             ,
          
           
             That
             none
             doe
             gaine
             but
             by
             anothers
             losse
             .
          
        
         
           
             SAMUEL
             BRUNSELL
             .
          
        
      
    
    

