%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A lamentable new Ballad vpon the Earle of Essex death. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1620-1620 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/16/2018 36027

The University of California makes a claim of copyright only to original contributions made by Early Modern Center participants and other members of the university community. The University of California makes no claim of copyright to the original text. Permission is granted to download, transmit or otherwise reproduce, distribute or display the contributions to this work claimed by The University of California for non-profit educational purposes, provided that this header is included in its entirety. For inquiries about commercial uses, please contact:

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

S2554 1 the Kings last Good-night Essex' Last Good-night The King's Last Goodnight ALL you that cry, O hone O hone / come now and sing, O Lord with me, and lately tooke his last Good night. [with variation] Manchester Central Library Blackletter Ballads Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 37 A lamentable new Ballad vpon the Earle of Essex death. A lamentable new Ballad upon the Earl of Essex's death. Printer E.A. 1620-1620

This document follows the guidelines specified for TEI.

XML Generated Automatically at 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM Using EMC

XBallad Parsing Engine developed by Carl G Stahmer.

TEI Template developed by Gerald Egan and Modified by Carl Stahmer

All apostrophes are encoded as '.

Any dashs occurring in line breaks have been removed;

All dashs are encoded as ‐ and all em dashes as —.

 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 10/16/2018 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM XBallad Ward, Jayne Created XML Version of Ballad 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Adkison, Katie Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM Transcriptionist Two Levinson-Emley, Rachel Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 10:59:16 AM Transcriptionist One McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/16/2016 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A lamentable new Ballad upon the Earle of Essex death.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the tune of the Kings last Good-night.</hi></seg>
ALL you that cry, O hone O hone come now and sing, O Lord with me, For why our Jewell is from us gone, the valiant Knight of Chivalrie: Of rich and poore beloved was he, in time an honorable Knight, When by our Lawes condemd to dye, and lately tooke his last Goodnight. Count him not like to Saint nor Campion, (those traitrous men) or Babington, Nor like the Earle of Westmerland, by whom a number were undone: He never yet hurt mothers sonne, his quarrell stil maintaind the right: Which makes the tears my cheeks down run: when I thinke on his last Good-night. The Portingales can witnes be, his Dagger at Lisbone gate he flung, And like a knight of Chivalrie, his chaine upon the gate he hung: Would God that he would thither come, to fetch them both in order right: Which thing was by his honor done, yet lately tooke his last Good-night. The Frenchmen they can testifie, the towns of Gourney he tooke in: And marched to Roane immediately, not caring for his foes a pin. With bullets then he pierced their skin, and made them flee far from his sight: He at that time did credit win, and now hath tane his last Good-night. And stately Cales can witnes well: even by his Proclamation right, He did command them all straightly, to have a care of Infants lives:
That none should ravish maide nor wife, which was against their order right: Therefore they praid for his long life, which lately tooke his last Good-night. Would God he had ne're Ireland knowne, nor set his feet on Flanders ground: Then might we well injoyed our owne, where now our Jewell will not be found. Which makes our woes still to abound, trickling with salt teares in my sight: To heare his name in our eares to sound, Lord Devereux tooke his last Goodnight. Ashwednesday that dismall day, when he came forth of his Chamber doore, Upon the Scaffold there he saw, his headsman standing him before. The Nobles all they did deplore, shedding their salt teares in his sight: He said, farewell to rich and poore, at his good morrow and good-night. Farewell Elizabeth my gratious Queene, God blesse thee and thy counsell all: Farewell my Knights of Chivalrie, farewell my soldiers stout and tall: Farewell the Commons great and small, into the hands of men I light: My life shall make amends for all, for Essex bids the world good-night. Farewell deare wife and children three, farewell my young and tender son, Comfort yourselves mourne not for me, although your fall be now begun: My time is come the glasse is run, comfort yourselves in former light, Seeing by my fall you are undone, your Father bids the world Good-night. Derrick thou knowst at Cales I sav'd thy life, lost for a rape there done, Which thou thyselfe canst testifye, thine owne hand three and twenty hung: But now thou seest my time is come, by chance into thy hands I light. Strike out thy blow that I may know, thou Essex lov'dst at his good-night. When England counted me a Papist, the workes of Papists I defie, I nere worshipt Saint, nor Angell in heaven, nor to the Virgin Mary I, But to Christ which for my sinnes did dye, trickling with sad teares in his sight: Spreading my armes to God on high, Lord Jesus, receive my soule this night.
FINIS. Imprinted at London by E.A.