%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN / ELEGY / ON THE / Death of the most Illustrious LORD, / THE / EARL of St. ALBANS: / Who departed this Life the first Day of this Instant January, 1684. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1684-1684 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/08/2012 32239

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R36108 GO stop the swift-wing'd Moments in their flight, / Arrest the Envious Course of Day and Night; Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 134131 AN / ELEGY / ON THE / Death of the most Illustrious LORD, / THE / EARL of St. ALBANS: / Who departed this Life the first Day of this Instant January, 1684. AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the most Illustrious LORD, THE EARL of St. ALBANS: Who departed this Life the first Day of this Instant January, 1684. AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the most Illustrious LORD, THE EARL of St. ALBANS: Who departed this Life the first Day of this Instant January, 1684. 1684-1684 I. Deacon

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 5/8/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death nobility/ court politics/ government Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/8/2012 3:53:23 PM XBallad Semaan, Tara Created XML Version of Ballad 5/8/2012 3:53:23 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/8/2012 3:53:23 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/8/2012 3:53:23 PM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristy Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/8/2012 3:53:23 PM Transcriptionist One Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/11/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 5/3/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AN</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ELEGY</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ON THE</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Death of the most Illustrious LORD,</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">EARL of St. ALBANS:</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Who Departed this Life the first Day of this Instant</hi> January, 1684.</hi></seg>
GO stop the swift-wingd Moments in their flight, Arrest the Envious Course of Day and Night; Alas! it will not be, we strive in vain, Not all our Art can one poor Hour regain: TIME flyes in haste to meet Eternity, As Rivers to the Bosome of the Sea, There to be lost; nor can we bribe the stay Of the least Minute, to prolong the Day, Which is by Fate ordaind to be our last, Without reverse, when once the Doom is past. For if there coud have been the least Reprieve To Mortal Breath, thou hadst been still alive; St. ALBANS still, had blest our wondring Eyes, Who now the Tyrant Deaths pale Captive lies. Let us contemplate thee (brave Soul) and tho We cannot track the way which thou didst go In thy Celestial Journey, and our Heart Expansion want, to think what now thou art, How bright and wide thy Glories, yet we may Remember thee as thou wert in thy Clay; Great without Title, in thyself alone, A mighty Lord, thou stoodst obliegd to none But Heaven and thyself, for that great worth Which the propitious Stars that ruld thy Birth Inspird into thy Noble Soul, and Thou Not wanting to thyself, didst make it grow To such prodigious height, thou wast become So truly Glorious, that struck Envy Dumb. All Differences did in thy praise conspire, And evn thy Foes, if such coud be, admire Thy Noble Life, which like the constant Sun Did in the same Ecliptic always run Ever most loyal to the Royal Cause, Which from the Heaven of Heavens its Title draws; Where now thou livst, freed from th uncertain sport Of Time and Fortune, in the Starry Court, A Glorious Potentate; while we below, But fashion woes to mittigate our woe.
And now my sorrows follow thee, I tread The Milky way, and see the Snowy Head Of Atlas far below, while all the high. Swoln Buildings seem but Attoms to my eye; How small seems greatness here? how! not a span His Empire who commands the Ocean, Both that which boasts so much its mighty Ore, And th other wh[i]ch with Pearl hath pavd its shore. Nor can it greater seem, when this great All, For which Men quarrel so, is but a Ball Cast down into the ayr, to sport the Star; And all our general Ruines, mortal wars, Depopulated States, causd by their sway, And Mans so reverend wisdom but their play. By thee St. Albans living, we did learn The art of life, and by thy light discern The truth which Men dispute; but by thee Dead, Wer taught upon the worlds gay pride to tread, And that way sooner Master it, than he To whom both Indies tributary be: Thus shall we gain by Death, while we Deplore His Fate, remembring how great and good St. Albans was, and yet but flesh and blood As we; how should the brave example move On kindled Souls, and lift us up above Low-thoughted Care of dull Mortality, Since, if as Good, we shall be Great as He.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The EPITAPH.</hi></seg>
HAil! Sacred House, in which his Reliques Sleep, Blest Marble, give me leave t approach and Weep: Unto thy Self, great Spirit, I will Repeat Thy Own brave STORY: tell thy Self how Great Thou wert in Minds Empire, and how all Who Out-Live Thee, see but the FUNERAL Of Glory; and if yet some Vertuous be, They but the Apparitions are of Thee.
Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-spur-street, without New-Gate, 1684.