%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A / FVNERALL ELEGIE VPON / the death of the as Noble as Vertuous Prince, / LODOVICK Duke of Lenox, and Rich- / mond, &c. Who deceased at White Hall the 16. / of Februarie, 1623. Marceline, George University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1624-1624 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/26/2018 36337

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S94106 IF euer cruell Death with one great stroke / The hearts of millions in sunder broke, Society of Antiquaries of London - Broadsides Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 210 A / FVNERALL ELEGIE VPON / the death of the as Noble as Vertuous Prince, / LODOVICK Duke of Lenox, and Rich- / mond, &c. Who deceased at White Hall the 16. / of Februarie, 1623. A FUNERAL ELEGY UPON the death of the as Noble as Virtuous Prince, LODOVICK Duke of Lennox, and Richmond, etc. Who deceased at White Hall the 16 of February, 1623. Marceline, George 1624-1624 Iohn Trundle

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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 10/26/2018 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death royalty virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/26/2018 3:31:37 PM XBallad Raychawdhuri, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 10/26/2018 3:31:37 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:31:37 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:31:37 PM Transcriptionist Two Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:31:37 PM Transcriptionist One Messner, Milena Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/31/2017 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 8/21/2018 Checker Minh Hua Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/6/2017 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">FUNERALL ELEGIE UPON</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">the death of the as Noble as Vertuous Prince,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">LODOVICK <hi rend="bold">Duke of Lenox, and Rich-</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">mond, etc.</hi> Who deceased at White Hall the 16.</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">of Februarie, 1623.</hi></seg>
IF ever cruell Death with one great stroke The hearts of millions in sunder broke, Now he hath don't, in taking him away, Who was of thousand men the helpe and stay. Had he no meaner man to make his But, But he in whom thousands their hopes did put? Could he have done us a more foule disgrace, Then to pull downe vertues great mansion place? And at such time when we him most did need, Must he make thousands with one dart to bleed? O cursed Monster, thou hast made our King The dolefull tune of Lachyrme to sing. Our noble Prince, though young, lookes old with care: The Dutchesse doth her golden tresses teare. The Nobles, curse thy curst ignoble deed, And each instead of Robe, takes mourning weed. The Commons have no common griefe, but make The Earth with their shrill loud outcries to shake. And all for Him, whose heavy losse doth wound The King, the Commons, and makes all unsound. Me thinkes I heare Art in the streets complaine, She hath lost him who did her state maintaine. Vertue in sable weeds mournes all alone, Because her patterne and her Patron's gone. The Poore complaine that they have lost their Treasure, Death could not doe them a more foule displeasure. Sad Teares doe flow from each mans liquid eies, And all in Griefe and Sorrow sympathise. How then of Death shall we revenged be? Yes; he shall live, O Death, in spight of thee. His soule shall live in glories lustre bright, Though he lies buried in graves darkesome night. So shall his name mount on the wings of Fame, For all thy hate thou canst not hurt the same. Babes yet unborne, so soone as they can babble, Shall say that Richmonds Duke was charitable. He was a Steward after Gods owne minde, The Poores releever, and to none unkinde. Though high in Honour, yet he humble was, For noblenesse of minde none did him passe. Another Job for worthy Patience, A Salomon for true intelligence. These honours unto him mens words shall give, And thus, he in despight of Death shall live.
LAment, O Scotland, which hast lost a Peere, Which was to thee, as thou to him wast deere: And thou art like an army which is fled, Because their Leader's not, and Captaine dead, Let not thy Churches sable sad weeds lacke, But be ye clad in mournfull dismall black. Why should we not the Church to mourning call, Since that a pillar of it late did fall? Lenox great Duke, whose sacred godly care, Was her rites to maintaine and state upreare. Lament ye, which rest on Pernassus hill, Ye Muses servants, let sad Poems fill Each corner in the Earth, and let your Verse Decke and adorne about his funerall Herse. Let all the Muses to him honour give, He gave them house-roome whiles he here did live. The reason why I call for company To joyne in mourning with my Elegie, Is, because that companions in griefe, Doe mitigate the woe, and give reliefe To me, which cannot write my griefe conceiv'd, Thinking how many with me are bereav'd Of him, in whom the Graces all did dwell, Whose worth we may admire, but never tell: Though we had famous Tullies eloquence, Yet we could not expresse his excellence, In whom all vertues did in fulnesse raigne, Not the least part of wicked vice remaine, Whose soule no doubt, now hath receiv'd reward Of his good deeds, and hath that sentence heard, Which Christ pronounceth to all blessed sprites, Come and partake of ne're-fading delights: Where we doe leave him joying for his blesse, But mourning for our losse, which is no lesse, Then is the Orphans, whose kind mother's dead, Or then the Widdowes which hath lost her head, Whose absence we with bitter sighs deplore, And sobs, which doe forbid us writing more.
FINIS. George Marceline. Printed at London for John Trundle, and are to be sold at his shop neere the Hospitall Gate. 1624.