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         Ricraft, Josiah, fl. 1645-1679.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A91805 of text R210596 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.10[81]). 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
         A91805
         Wing R1429
         Thomason 669.f.10[81]
         ESTC R210596
         99869379
         99869379
         162615
         
           
            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. A91805)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162615)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f10[81])
      
       
         
           
             A funeral 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 Courchier and Lovaine, late Generall of England. / Written by him who doth with much grief here speak of brave Essex, Englands Phenix Peere. Josiah Ricraft of London merchant.
             Ricraft, Josiah, fl. 1645-1679.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (port.)
           
             Printed in the year one thousand six hundred forty and six in which, Septembers fourteenth day deceased brave Essex. Are to be sold by John Hancock, in Popes head Ally neer the Royall Exchange,
             London :
             [1646]
          
           
             With engraved portrait of the Earl of Essex.
             In verse : "Is Valiant Essex dead? 'tis sure a story!"
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Essex, Robert Devereaux, -- Earl of, 1591-1646 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Elegiac poetry, English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
       A91805  R210596  (Thomason 669.f.10[81]).  civilwar no A funeral elegy upon the most honored upon Earth, and now glorious in Heaven, His Excellency Robert Devereux Earl of Essex and Ewe, Viscount Ricraft, Josiah 1646    626 2 0 0 0 0 0 32 C  The  rate of 32 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 
        2007-07 TCP
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        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2007-08 Mona Logarbo
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        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2008-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
       
         
           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
             .
          
        
         
           
             portrait
             
               
                 Robert
                 Earle
                 of
                 Essex
                 his
                 Exellence
                 Lord
                 Generall
                 of
                 the
                 Parlimts
                 
                 :
                 Army
                 etc
                 :
                 Lately
                 deceased
              
            
             
               
                 winged skull
              
            
          
        
         
           
             IS
             valiant
             
               Essex
            
             dead
             ?
             't
             is
             sure
             a
             story
             !
          
           
             Since
             none
             do
             die
             who
             gain
             eternal
             glory
             .
          
           
             No
             ,
             he
             is
             only
             vanisht
             from
             our
             sight
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             a
             star
             ;
             to
             give
             these
             Isles
             more
             light
          
           
             To
             see
             the
             way
             to
             peace
             ,
             and
             to
             direct
          
           
             Their
             erring
             judgements
             from
             each
             idle
             
               Sect
               ,
            
          
           
             Which
             trouble
             both
             Religion
             ,
             and
             the
             State
             ▪
          
           
             And
             are
             indeed
             the
             
               limen
            
             of
             that
             gate
          
           
             At
             which
             our
             miseries
             and
             mischiefes
             enter
             ,
          
           
             The
             very
             spring
             of
             all
             our
             woes
             and
             center
             .
          
           
             But
             whither
             run
             I
             ?
             oh
             !
             see
             !
             observe
             the
             Sphears
             ,
          
           
             How
             they
             bewail
             our
             
               Essex
            
             losse
             in
             tears
             :
          
           
             For
             with
             this
             light
             and
             airy
             shadow
             we
          
           
             Of
             fame
             and
             honor
             must
             contented
             be
             ;
          
           
             Since
             from
             the
             vain
             grasp
             of
             our
             Wishes
             fled
          
           
             Their
             glorious
             substance
             is
             ,
             now
             ,
             
               he
            
             is
             dead
             ;
          
           
             And
             speaks
             again
             louder
             ,
             and
             louder
             yet
             ;
          
           
             Els
             while
             we
             hear
             the
             sound
             ,
             we
             should
             forget
          
           
             What
             is
             deliver'd
             ;
             let
             hoarse
             rumors
             cry
          
           
             Till
             it
             so
             many
             ecchoes
             multiply
             ,
          
           
             To
             waken
             our
             deaf
             sense
             ,
             and
             make
             our
             ears
          
           
             As
             open
             and
             dilated
             as
             our
             fears
             ,
          
           
             That
             we
             might
             feel
             the
             blow
             and
             feeling
             grive
          
           
             At
             which
             fain
             we
             would
             not
             ,
             but
             must
             beleeve
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             this
             horrid
             faith
             behold
             the
             world
          
           
             From
             her
             proud
             height
             of
             expectation
             hurl'd
             ;
          
           
             Stooping
             with
             him
             ,
             as
             if
             shee
             strove
             to
             have
          
           
             No
             lower
             center
             now
             ,
             then
             
               Essex
            
             grave
             .
          
           
             Oh!
             could
             not
             all
             thy
             purchas'd
             
               victories
            
          
           
             Like
             to
             thy
             
               fame
               ,
            
             thy
             flesh
             immortalize
             !
          
           
             Could
             not
             all
             these
             protect
             thee
             ,
             or
             prevail
          
           
             To
             fright
             that
             coward
             Death
             ,
             who
             oft
             grew
             pale
          
           
             To
             look
             thee
             and
             thy
             battels
             in
             the
             face
             ?
          
           
             Alas
             they
             could
             not
             !
             destiny
             gives
             place
          
           
             To
             none
             :
             nor
             is
             it
             seen
             that
             Princes
             
               Lives
            
          
           
             Can
             saved
             be
             by
             their
             
               Prerogatives
               .
            
          
           
             Yet
             since
             it
             is
             decreed
             thy
             life's
             bright
             sun
          
           
             Must
             be
             eclip'st
             ;
             thy
             race
             it
             being
             run
             :
          
           
             Be
             proud
             ,
             thou
             dye'st
             in
             thy
             black
             obsequies
          
           
             With
             greater
             glory
             
               set
               ,
            
             then
             others
             
               rise
               .
            
          
           
             For
             in
             thy
             death
             and
             life
             thou
             heldest
             one
          
           
             Most
             just
             and
             regular
             proportion
             .
          
           
             Look
             how
             a
             circle
             drawn
             by
             compass
             meet
          
           
             Invisibly
             is
             joyned
             head
             to
             feet
             :
          
           
             So
             doth
             thy
             
               fate
            
             and
             
               honor
            
             now
             contend
          
           
             To
             match
             thy
             brave
             
               beginning
            
             with
             thy
             
               end
               .
            
          
           
             And
             for
             thy
             
               name
               ,
            
             it
             stands
             in
             crimson
             groun
             ▪
          
           
             
               Edg-hill
            
             and
             
               Newbrey-marsh
            
             thy
             fame
             to
             sound
             .
          
           
             For
             in
             those
             fields
             thou
             did'st
             triumphantly
          
           
             Conquer
             the
             enemy
             ,
             got'st
             the
             victory
             .
          
           
             Therefore
             thou
             wilt
             have
             for
             thy
             passing
             bels
          
           
             The
             drums
             and
             canons
             thunder
             forth
             thy
             knels
             .
          
           
             Then
             famous
             
               London
            
             shut
             your
             shops
             a
             space
             ,
          
           
             And
             mourn
             for
             him
             who
             was
             your
             Islands
             grace
             .
          
           
             I
             should
             proceed
             ,
             but
             sorrow
             wets
             my
             eyes
             ;
          
           
             And
             while
             some
             Muses
             write
             ,
             mine
             only
             cries
             .
          
        
         
           
             Written
             by
             him
             who
             doth
             with
             much
             grief
             here
          
           
             Speak
             of
             brave
             
               Essex
               ,
               Englands
            
             Phenix
             Peere
             .
          
        
         
           
             Josiah
             Ricraft
          
           of
           
             London
             Merchant
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
        
      
    
     
       
         
           LONDON
           Printed
           in
           the
           year
           one
           thousand
           six
           hundred
           forty
           and
           six
           In
           which
           ,
           SEPTEMBERS
           fourteenth
           day
           deceased
           brave
           ESSEX
           .
           Are
           to
           be
           sold
           by
           JOHN
           HANCOCK
           ,
           in
           Popes
           head
           Ally
           neer
           the
           Royall
           Exchange
           .
        
      
      
  

