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         Mill, Henry.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A89134 of text R210641 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.10[95]). 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 
       Approx. 2 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image.
       
         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
         2017
         A89134
         Wing M2056
         Thomason 669.f.10[95]
         ESTC R210641
         99869419
         99869419
         162628
         
           
            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. A89134)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162628)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f10[95])
      
       
         
           
             A funerall elegy upon the most honored upon Earth, and now glorious in Heaven, His Excellency Robert Devereux Earl of Essex and Ewe Viscount Hereford, Lord Ferrers of Chartly Bourchier and Louvaine, late Generall of England.
             Mill, Henry.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             Printed by John Macock for William Ley, and are to be sold at his shop at Pauls Chaine,
             London :
             1646.
          
           
             In verse: "VVhat do our sighs and tears when Essex dyes,"...
             Annotation on Thomason copy: "Octob: 22th".
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Essex, Robert Devereux, -- Earl of, 1591-1646 -- Poetry.
           Elegiac poetry, English.
        
      
    
       A89134  R210641  (Thomason 669.f.10[95]).  civilwar no A funerall elegy upon the most honored upon Earth, and now glorious in Heaven, His Excellency Robert Devereux Earl of Essex and Ewe, Viscoun Mill, Henry 1646    301 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.  
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           A
           Funerall
           Elegy
           upon
           the
           most
           Honored
           upon
           Earth
           ,
           and
           now
           glorious
           in
           Heaven
           ,
           His
           Excellency
           
             Robert
             Devereux
          
           Earl
           of
           
             Essex
          
           and
           
             Ewe
             ,
          
           Viscount
           
             Hereford
             ,
          
           Lord
           
             Ferrers
          
           of
           
             Chartly
             Bourchier
          
           and
           
             Lovaine
             ,
          
           late
           Generall
           of
           
             England
             .
          
        
         
           VVHat
           do
           our
           sighs
           and
           tears
           when
           Essex
           dyes
           ,
        
         
           They
           are
           for
           him
           but
           petty
           Obsequies
           .
        
         
           For
           when
           such
           Heroe's
           use
           to
           fall
           a
           sleepe
        
         
           The
           drops
           of
           rain
           shew
           that
           the
           heavens
           weepe
           ;
        
         
           And
           those
           huge
           stormes
           ,
           which
           since
           his
           death
           have
           fell
        
         
           Say
           that
           the
           world
           with
           very
           grief
           doth
           swell
           .
        
         
           As
           heavy
           breathings
           are
           thrown
           all
           about
        
         
           Puffing
           at
           what
           is
           left
           for
           what
           is
           out
           .
        
         
           What
           then
           do
           lines
           ,
           why
           do
           the
           Muses
           try
        
         
           To
           groan
           out
           ,
           not
           to
           speak
           thy
           Elegie
           ;
        
         
           And
           why
           does
           each
           prophane
           hand
           to
           thy
           hearse
        
         
           Presume
           to
           offer
           up
           a
           mourning
           verse
           ?
        
         
           Griefe
           makes
           men
           cry
           ,
           and
           each
           Plebean
           head
        
         
           Doth
           scan
           his
           sighs
           with
           pains
           not
           scanteled
           :
        
         
           The
           more
           we
           see
           ,
           the
           more
           we
           see
           our
           losse
           ;
        
         
           When
           all
           affaires
           are
           now
           upon
           the
           tosse
           .
        
         
           Thy
           birth
           was
           Noble
           ,
           but
           thy
           vertue
           more
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           the
           house
           of
           fame
           hath
           layd
           a
           store
        
         
           That
           will
           endure
           whilst
           that
           a
           pen
           can
           run
           ,
        
         
           Or
           mortall
           threads
           of
           life
           by
           fate
           be
           spun
           :
        
         
           Thy
           theame
           will
           Volumes
           fill
           ,
           and
           thy
           faire
           shade
           ,
        
         
           Of
           making
           books
           will
           urge
           a
           constant
           trade
           :
        
         
           Sorrow
           strikes
           dum
           ,
           in
           this
           we
           all
           are
           laid
           ,
        
         
           I
           can
           say
           nothing
           ,
           but
           I
           would
           have
           said
           .
        
         
           
             Henry
             Mill
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
           
             LONDON
          
           Printed
           by
           
             John
             Macock
          
           for
           
             William
             Ley
             ,
          
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           at
           his
           shop
           at
           
             Pauls
             Chaine
             .
          
           1646.
           
        
      
      
  

