%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN ELIGIE / UPON THE / Universally-lamented Death of the thrice Noble and Vertuous / Prince, Henry Duke of Gloucester. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/21/2014 32945

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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

R210772 ANd is his breath expir'd? hath His Chaste Soul / Shak'd off her clayie fetters? Ah, condole, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 343 AN ELIGIE / UPON THE / Universally-lamented Death of the thrice Noble and Vertuous / Prince, Henry Duke of Gloucester. AN ELIGIE UPON THE Universally-lamented Death of the thrice Noble and Vertuous Prince, Henry Duke of Gloucester. AN ELEGY UPON THE Universally-lamented Death of the thrice Noble and Virtuous Prince, Henry Duke of Gloucester. ?-? Thomas Parkhurst

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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 Featured 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 6/21/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation death mythology/ Classical politics/ government religious groups royalty virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/21/2014 1:15:48 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/21/2014 1:15:48 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/21/2014 1:15:48 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/21/2014 1:15:48 PM Transcriptionist Two Fisher, Joshua Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/21/2014 1:15:48 PM Transcriptionist One Le, Vi Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/16/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 3/30/2014 Checker Christopher Foley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/25/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/24/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/17/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/17/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AN ELIGIE</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">UPON THE</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Universally-lamented Death of the thrice Noble and Vertuous</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Prince, Henry Duke of Gloucester.</hi></seg>
ANd is his breath expird? hath His Chaste Soul Shakd off her clayie fetters? Ah, condole, Mourn and lament your Fate Distressed Isles Of Britains growing Empire, hence all smiles Adieu. Up, said Melpomenie, Ah, rouse Thy thirsty soul, and in thy tears carouse Thy fill; come, banquet on the Sable Verse, My Muse shall sacrifice unto His Herse: Turn from all other Objects, for heres One Presents thee with an Inundation Of lasting Grief. But whats my private woe, When all the Nations Tears do overflow. Yet stay,forbear a while, lets not believe He thus could dye, and yet the Heavens not grieve At th worlds Great Loss! what? do impetuous showers Of tears from thWeeping Clouds (preventing ours) Distil; Or doth the Days Bright Lamp streight burn Dull as a Torch to light us to His Urn? Is the dismantled Skies Bright Azure-Back, Streight over-clad in Sad and Mournful Black? No, see Olymphus face serene and clear, Free from the signal of one Chrystal tear; Phoebus ins wonted lustre shines, the Skies Are not adorned for His Obsequies; Sure then He still survives, and his soft breaths, But whispering Mercy in the ears of Death: View but His cheeks, where though the Roses are Seeming tretreat, the Lillies spring more fair Then ere they did: Thoughs eyes they do not keep Their Rays in ure, they are but closd in sleep: The former lustre of his Ruby Lips, (Which now seem Snow) feel but a short Eclipse: By want of Sanguine heat, life doth impart, And send at present to His drooping heart His dormant pulses (which erewhile exprest His health) are laid but sweetly down to rest: Cease then to think Him Dead, wait but a while, And gently hell awake, see, see Him smile. But ah, our expectations are deceivd, And those so sweet Ideas we conceivd Would turn to Substance, are but Shadows fled Away on Airy Wings, for loe Hes DEAD: Hes dead, and coffind up, fit to receive The cold embracing of His ROYAL GRAVE. False Phansie, why hast mockt us? why betrayd Our lingring Hopes thus into Lyes? and staid The current of our Tears so long? Ah, why Wouldst thou perswade us that He could not dye, Unless the troubled Heavens had mournd and wept To see Him dead, whilst thou feignd He but slept; When oft we see the best of Nature falls, Unmourned for by Supernaturals.
Hes gone: Ope wide the floodgates of your eyes, That streams may pass. When common beauty lies Interrd in dust, when death hath cropt the Rose Of Youth scarce blown, what flinty hearts are those Vent not a tear? But now that Death takes hence The Lovelyst of the Land, our YOUNGEST PRINCE, Shall we be parsimonious of our store? No, well even weep, till we can shed no more. Now if I could, Id mount the Radiant Seat Of Sacred Angels, humbly to entreat A Quill pluckt from their Wings, and crave a Fount Of Highest Eloquence, and then recount The Grandeur of His VERTUES; for below, No Pen, no Strains are found that can them show. To say He was a PRINCE of Noblest Blood, Great by His Birth, yet not so Great as Good: To say He was so Learnd, eres age could reach, A score of years, He could His Tutors teach: To say He was a PRINCE whose Life was spent In Grief and Cares, yet never discontent: To say He was but Young when ravishd hence, Yet Old in WISDOM and EXPERIENCE: To say (what shall I say?) He was become, The PRINCELY DARLING of all Christendom, Were but (by these unworthy lines) to tell A Truth the World already knows so well. Go ask the Church of Rome, she (sighing) saith, Ah, all my Batteries could not shake His Faith. Go ask the nimble French, what was His Wit, Theyll quickly tell you they admired it. Go ask the serious Spaniard, theyll aver, He was a PRINCE did need no Counsellour. Go ask the German Princes, ask the Dutch, The Nations round, theyll say they found as much: We onely (soon unhappy made) alas, Have scarce experimented what He was. Now what is Man, O whats the Noblest Man? The Slave of Death (whose Life is but a Span,) A weary Passenger, still on his way, Here much esteemd, a Nothing in a day. What is this Life? but even expected Death, A Stage of Mockeries, a little breath Reserved in a Bladder, prickt tis lost; A doleful Warfare, and to all (not most) A Sea of Miseries, a Vial filld With blood, which being quickly broke, tis spilld. How infinitely happy then is His Bright Soul, releasd from such a Life as this: There blessed Spirit rest, rest in that Peace, And these Celestial Joys shall never cease: GLOUSTERS Great Name on Earth ner can binvolvd In Laethes Streams, until the Worlds dissolvd.
London, Printed for Thomas Parkhurst, at the lower end of Cheapside.