%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN / ELEGY / ON THE / Death of the Right Noble PRINCE / HENRY HOWARD, / Duke of NORFOLK, / Who Departed this Life the 13th. day of this Instant January, 1684. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 02/29/2016 34542

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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

R34869 NORFOLK is Dead like Lightning, which no part / O'th' Body touches, but first strikes the Heart! Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 AN / ELEGY / ON THE / Death of the Right Noble PRINCE / HENRY HOWARD, / Duke of NORFOLK, / Who Departed this Life the 13th. day of this Instant January, 1684. AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the Right Noble PRINCE HENRY HOWARD, Duke of NORFOLK, Who Departed this Life the 13th day of this Instant January, 1684. AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the Right Noble PRINCE HENRY HOWARD, Duke of NORFOLK, Who Departed this Life the 13th day of this Instant January, 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 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 2/29/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death nobility/ court virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 2/29/2016 12:39:10 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 2/29/2016 12:39:10 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 12:39:10 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Rice, Sarah Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 12:39:10 PM Transcriptionist Two Gately, Daniel Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 12:39:10 PM Transcriptionist One Flores, Lizbet Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/4/2015 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/8/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/12/2014 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/28/2014 Bibliographer Kristen McCants 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 Right Noble PRINCE</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">HENRY HOWARD,</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Duke of NORFOLK,</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Who Departed this Life the</hi> 13th <hi rend="bold">day of this Instant</hi> January, 1684.</hi></seg>
NORFOLK is Dead like Lightning, which no part O'th' Body touches, but first strikes the Heart! This Sound is Fatal, for there's not in all The stock of Sorrow, any Charm can call Death sooner up; there's Musick in the breath Of Thunder, and a sweetness in the Death: It brings with it, if we with this compare, All the loud Noises that torment the Air. They Cure (Physirians say) the Element, Sick with dull Vapours, and to Banishment, Confine Infections: But this Dismal shriek, Without the least Redress, is utter'd like The last day's Summons, when Earths Glories lie A scatterd heap, and Time itself must Dye. What now hath it to boast of? can we have A thought less dark then th' horrour of the Grave? Now thou dost dwell below; as brave a Soul, As humane sighs and tears did e're condole: Sprung from those great Progenitors, whose Name Shines high and glorious in the Book of Fame: Renown'd for Martial Deeds, true English born, Such as for ever shall our Isle adorn; Who in their great Example still do live, And to brave Spirits still Instructions give: Pointing the way to Honour, by true worth, Such as themselves did to the world set forth. Howard! a Name which France has forc'd to shake, The very Sound has driv'n whole Armies back; But all their Prowess and Heroick Might, No Death the Universal Monarch, fright; To Fate their Glorious Heads at length did bow, And God-like Men like Beasts, in Dust lye low; Nor was Great Norfolk then his Fathers less, But all their Vertues did at large express. Of the first Magnitude a fixed Star, Never Excentrick in the Brittish Sphere; But always Loyal to his Prince, he stood In every Shock of State, and stemm'd the Flood
Of Popular Rage, and did himself approve, To his own Honour, and the Royal Love; Blest with great Titles, Wealth, and ample Power, And by his own great Regarded more. Valiant and Wife, in Dangers often tost, But yet his God-like Courage never lost. When Fortune frown'd, he found himself then most Resolv'd, and with collected strength abides Th' impetuous rage of Winds and adverse Tides; Always undaunted, and his Noble Mind, Not blood est threats cou'd force, nor flatteries blind. A Hero so compleat, not every day Is form'd, but Heaven does once an Age display Some wondrous work, a while to bless our eyes, And then destroys, lest we should Idolize. But yet the Memory thereof remains, And we're allow'd in tears to ease our pains. Our loss is Universal, all should weep, A Anniversary our eyes should keep, To some sad Numbers tun'd, some solemn Verse, That may his Glories and our Griefs rehearse; Nor should we cease to grieve and to admire, Until our wearied Souls, like his Expire. The EPITAPH. HEre is true Eloquence, The Grave alone speaks Sense; It says that Mortal Joys, Each blast of Time Destroys, But he that has Liv'd Just, His Glory keeps in Dust.
FINIS. Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-spur-street, without New-Gate, 1684.