







 
   
     
       
         An elegie upon the Honourable Colonel Thomas Rainsbrough, butchered at Doncaster Sunday the 29. Octob. 1648.
         J. T.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A94732 of text R211064 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.13[39]). 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
         A94732
         Wing T18
         Thomason 669.f.13[39]
         ESTC R211064
         99869800
         99869800
         162935
         
           
            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. A94732)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162935)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f13[39])
      
       
         
           
             An elegie upon the Honourable Colonel Thomas Rainsbrough, butchered at Doncaster Sunday the 29. Octob. 1648.
             J. T.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             s.n.,
             [London :
             1648]
          
           
             Signed at end: 'J.T.'
             Imprint from Wing.
             Verse - "Tvvas like your selves brave Royallists, such a blow,".
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Rainborow, Thomas, d. 1648 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Elegiac poetry, English.
           Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
       A94732  R211064  (Thomason 669.f.13[39]).  civilwar no An elegie upon the Honourable Colonel Thomas Rainsbrough, butchered at Doncaster Sunday the 29. Octob. 1648. J. T.  1648    540 1 0 0 0 0 0 19 C  The  rate of 19 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 
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        2007-06 Aptara
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        2007-07 Emma (Leeson) Huber
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        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2008-02 pfs
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           AN
           ELEGIE
           Vpon
           the
           Honourable
           Colonel
           Thomas
           Rainsbrough
           ,
           butchered
           at
           Doncaster
           
             Sunday
             the
             29.
             Octob.
             1648.
             
          
        
         
           
             T'VVas
             like
             your selves
             brave
             Royallists
             ,
             such
             a
             blow
             ,
          
           
             As
             n'ere
             a
             subject
             of
             that
             Prince
             below
          
           
             Great
             
               Pluto's
               sacred
               Maiestie
            
             durst
             owne
             .
          
           
             But
             you
             are
             bolder
             Divels
             ;
             and
             have
             showne
          
           
             By
             this
             one
             barbarous
             act
             worse
             Furies
             dwell
          
           
             VVithin
             your
             breast
             then
             in
             the
             talk't
             of
             Hell
             ,
          
           
             The
             powers
             of
             darknesse
             ,
             in
             your
             heads
             ,
             strange
             fires
          
           
             Of
             Lust
             within
             your
             veines
             ;
             thirsting
             desires
          
           
             For
             blood
             of
             Innocents
             ;
             rapines
             ,
             butcheries
             ,
          
           
             VVrath
             ,
             malice
             ,
             thousand
             oaths
             ,
             ten
             thousand
             lies
             :
          
           
             These
             are
             flesh
             of
             your
             flesh
             ,
             bone
             of
             your
             bone
             ▪
          
           
             And
             if
             these
             be
             not
             Divels
             there
             are
             none
             .
          
        
         
           
             VVhen
             the
             bold
             Cymbrian
             was
             sent
             to
             kill
          
           
             Great
             
               Caius
               Marius
               ;
            
             he
             went
             lesse
             in
             ill
             :
          
           
             Durst
             not
             his
             hands
             in
             innocence
             imbrew
             :
          
           
             Cymbrians
             are
             Saints
             (
             deare
             Cabs
             )
             compar'd
             with
             you
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             can
             the
             Dragons
             taile
             prevaile
             so
             far
          
           
             As
             to
             sweep
             down
             to
             
             th'dust
             of
             death
             a
             star
          
           
             Of
             such
             a
             magnitude
             ?
             such
             rayes
             ?
             whose
             sphaeare
          
           
             was
             in
             the
             heart
             of
             God
             ,
             and
             only
             there
             ?
          
           
             Will
             not
             bold
             Atheists
             question
             providence
          
           
             And
             conclude
             'gainst
             a
             Deity
             from
             hence
             ?
          
           
             Is
             there
             a
             righteous
             God
             ?
             and
             could
             he
             see
             ,
          
           
             A
             naked
             ,
             single
             valour
             ,
             charg'd
             by
             three
          
           
             Arm'd
             furies
             ,
             and
             not
             draw
             his
             own
             ,
             nor
             lend
          
           
             A
             sword
             into
             the
             hand
             of
             such
             a
             friend
             ?
          
           
             Forsaken
             valour
             !
             whether
             wilt
             thou
             flie
          
           
             For
             succour
             ,
             when
             both
             heaven
             and
             earth
             deny
          
           
             To
             be
             thy
             second
             ?
             But
             stop
             stop
             my
             soule
             :
          
           
             
               Heavens
               waies
               are
               iust
               :
               earth
               may
               not
               heaven
               controule
            
          
           
             VVhat
             if
             Heaven
             purpos'd
             
               Rainsbroughs
            
             fall
             to
             be
          
           
             A
             prop
             for
             
               Englands
            
             dying
             Libertie
             ?
          
           
             And
             did
             in
             Love
             thus
             suffer
             one
             to
             fall
          
           
             That
             
               Charles
            
             by
             
               Treaty
            
             might
             not
             ruine
             all
             ?
          
           
             For
             who
             'l
             expect
             
               that
               Treaty
            
             should
             doe
             good
          
           
             
               VVhose
               longer
               date
            
             commenc't
             in
             Rainsbroughs
             blood
             ?
          
           
             See
             noble
             
               Fairfax
               ,
            
             and
             bold
             
               Cromwel
            
             see
          
           
             VVhat
             honours
             are
             prepar'd
             for
             thee
             ,
             and
             thee
             .
          
           
             Conclude
             a
             peace
             with
             
               Charles
               ;
            
             thus
             you
             shall
             ride
          
           
             Triumphant
             ,
             with
             your
             robes
             of
             Scarlet
             di'de
          
           
             In
             your
             own
             dearest
             blood
             :
             thus
             your
             
               Arrears
            
          
           
             You
             
               noble
               soules
            
             are
             paid
             ;
             the
             
               Tyrants
            
             feares
          
           
             Thus
             cur'd
             :
             thus
             (
             if
             you
             be
             not
             wise
             )
             you
             'l
             feele
          
           
             In
             stead
             of
             Gold
             hee
             'l
             pay
             you
             all
             with
             steel
             .
          
           
             Then
             let
             's
             adore
             that
             providence
             whose
             waies
             ,
          
           
             And
             works
             ,
             doe
             all
             proclaim
             aloud
             his
             praise
             .
          
           
             And
             thou
             great
             
               Victim
            
             who
             wa'st
             set
             apart
          
           
             For
             us
             ,
             shalt
             find
             a
             Tombe
             in
             every
             heart
          
           
             That
             is
             not
             prostituted
             to
             the
             Lust
          
           
             Of
             a
             
               right
               Reverend
            
             or
             
               Royall
            
             dust
             :
          
           
             And
             on
             that
             Tombe
             which
             doth
             such
             valour
             hold
          
           
             This
             Epitaph
             shall
             stand
             in
             lines
             of
             Gold
             .
          
        
         
           
             EPITAPHIVM
             .
          
           
             Here
             lyes
             as
             much
             true
             valour
             ,
             as
             could
             dye
             :
          
           
             A
             sacrifice
             for
             
               Englands
            
             Liberty
             .
          
           
             Great
             ,
             and
             Good
             
               Rainsborough
               ,
            
             (
             enough
             is
             said
             )
          
           
             Through
             Chomleys
             
               pride
            
             and
             
               Cowardice
            
             betraid
             .
          
        
         
           
             J.
             T.
             
          
        
      
    
    

