







 
   
     
       
         The apprentices lamentation together, vvith a dolefull elegie upon the manner of the death of that worthy, and valorous Knight Sr. Richard Wiseman.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A97165 of text R210701 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.4[45]). 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
         A97165
         Wing W87
         Thomason 669.f.4[45]
         ESTC R210701
         99869471
         99869471
         160667
         
           
            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. A97165)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 160667)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 245:669f4[45])
      
       
         
           
             The apprentices lamentation together, vvith a dolefull elegie upon the manner of the death of that worthy, and valorous Knight Sr. Richard Wiseman.
             P.W.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             Printed for William Larnar,
             [London] :
             [1642]
          
           
             Signed at end: P.W.
             Verse - "Thus died the mirrour of the times;".
             Place of publication and publication date from Wing.
             Annotation on Thomason copy: "1641".
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Wiseman, Richard, -- Sir, d. 1642 -- Early works to 1800.
           Elegiac poetry, English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
       A97165  R210701  (Thomason 669.f.4[45]).  civilwar no The apprentices lamentation, together, vvith a dolefull elegie upon the manner of the death of that worthy, and valorous Knight Sr. Richard P.W 1642    385 4 0 0 0 0 0 104 F  The  rate of 104 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the F category of texts with  100 or more defects per 10,000 words. 
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        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2008-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
       
         
           The
           Apprentices
           Lamentation
           ,
           TOGETHER
           ,
           VVith
           a
           dolefull
           
             Elegie
          
           upon
           the
           manner
           of
           the
           
             Death
          
           of
           that
           
             Worthy
             ,
          
           and
           Val●rous
           
             Knight
          
           Sr.
           
             RICHARD
             WJSEMAN
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Apprentices
            
             Lamentation
             for
             the
             death
             of
             Sir
             RICHARD
             WISEMAN
             .
          
           
             
               THus
               died
               the
               
                 Mirrour
              
               of
               the
               times
               ;
               whose
               
                 Fate
              
            
             
               We
               dare
               not
               murmure
               at
               ,
               to
               expostulate
               ,
            
             
               And
               reason
               with
               the
               
                 Deity
                 ,
              
               t
               ,
               were
               sinne
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               dare
               we
               wish
               the
               act
               undone
               againe
               ,
            
             
               With
               browes
               contracted
               and
               with
               moistned
               eyes
            
             
               'T
               is
               lawfull
               to
               lament
               his
               
                 Obsequies
                 .
              
            
             
               And
               not
               to
               praise
               his
               Worth
               were
               to
               detract
            
             
               Here
               an
               omission
               would
               be
               thought
               an
               
                 Act
              
            
             
               Of
               base
               Ingratitude
               ;
               and
               yet
               who
               knowes
            
             
               T'
               expresse
               his
               reall
               worth
               in
               Verse
               or
               Prose
               ,
            
             
               Rhethorique's
               too
               barren
               ,
               and
               all
               words
               to
               few
            
             
               To
               shadow
               forth
               those
               
                 Prayses
              
               that
               are
               due
            
             
               
                 To
              
               his
               blest
               memory
               ,
               since
               we
               cannot
               praise
            
             
               Enough
               his
               matchlesse
               Virtue
               ;
               we
               will
               raise
            
             
               Our
               meditations
               ,
               let
               our
               thoughts
               aspire
               ,
            
             
               And
               what
               we
               cannot
               praise
               enough
               ;
               admire
               :
            
             
               And
               least
               wee
               seeme
               t'
               envie
               thy
               blessed
               State
               ,
            
             
               (
               Blest
               to
               eternity
               )
               by
               our
               too
               late
            
             
               Laments
               .
               We
               'ele
               stop
               the
               floudgates
               of
               our
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               And
               cease
               to
               weep
               for
               thy
               sad
               
                 Obsequies
                 .
              
            
             
               Stop
               our
               teares
               current
               ,
               and
               forbeare
               to
               moane
               ,
            
             
               And
               turne
               our
               griefe
               to
               imitation
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             ELEGIES
             on
             the
             Death
             of
             Sr.
             RICHARD
             WISEMAN
             .
          
           
             
               AND
               shall
               the
               
                 Fates
              
               thus
               uncontrould
            
             
               Rob
               us
               of
               that
               which
               we
               doe
               hold
            
             
               Most
               sacred
               ,
               must
               pure
               
                 Virtue
              
               bee
            
             
               The
               Subject
               of
               their
               crueltie
               .
            
             
               Will
               not
               their
               too
               impious
               hand
            
             
               Be
               swai'd
               by
               
                 Wis●domes
              
               counterman'd
               ▪
            
             
               Curst
               be
               the
               worthlesse
               man
               that
               threw
            
             
               The
               fatall
               stone
               ,
               sure
               he
               well
               knew
            
             
               His
               
                 Valour
                 ,
              
               that
               he
               durst
               not
               trie
            
             
               A
               
                 Combat
              
               for
               the
               Victory
               ,
            
             
               But
               had
               he
               knowne
               his
               
                 Wisedome
              
               too
            
             
               
                 He
              
               would
               not
               then
               have
               dar'd
               to
               doe
               ,
            
             
               An
               
                 Act
              
               so
               horrid
               unto
               one
               ,
            
             
               Who
               came
               so
               neere
               
                 Perfection
                 .
              
            
             
               But
               t
               was
               thy
               
                 Fate
              
               (
               dece●sed
               Friend
               )
               to
               be
            
             
               
               Th'untimely
               Subject
               of
               his
               cruelty
               ;
            
             
               What
               direfull
               
                 Fate
              
               soever
               stops
               his
               breath
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               see
               the
               
                 Wiseman
              
               triumphs
               in
               his
               Death
               .
            
             
               
                 P.
                 W.
                 
              
            
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           Printed
           for
           WILLIAM
           LARNAR
           .
        
      
      
  

