%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A / FVNERAL / ELEGIE / VPON / The lamentable losse of our late Leige and / Royall King IAMES departed. / Anno Dom. 1625. / March 27. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1625-1625 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/26/2018 36342

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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

S3187 WHo can induce his mournfull Muse to (sing / The Exequies of our deceased King? 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: 258 A / FVNERAL / ELEGIE / VPON / The lamentable losse of our late Leige and / Royall King IAMES departed. / Anno Dom. 1625. / March 27. A FUNERAL ELEGY UPON The lamentable loss of our late Liege and Royal King JAMES departed. Anno Dom. 1625. March 27. 1625-1625 Iohn Wright

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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 3:46:29 PM XBallad Raychawdhuri, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 10/26/2018 3:46:29 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:46:29 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:46:29 PM Transcriptionist Two Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/26/2018 3:46:29 PM Transcriptionist One Messner, Milena Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/7/2017 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 8/21/2018 Checker Minh Hua Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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WHo can induce his mournfull Muse to sing The Exequies of our deceased King? But he shall finde his minde with Griefe unfit To pen a Poem, or to publish it, Such quelling force, hath sad-unlookt-for newes Over the Soule, as that it doth infuse Nothing but dolors, and doth cause the brest To be with dismall Lethargies opprest, So that awhile having receiv'd griefes Wound, We seeme dead-smitten to the dampish ground, And by much sorrow senslesse are, so that We cry, and sometimes have forgot for what: And he that would a solid Verse compose, Must banish from him intellectuall foes, Such as are sorrowes, and disastrous Passions, Sad Humors, Rumors, inward perturbations, Distracting Terrors, Errors bread by Fame, When lying flying tales pervert the same; And feare lest these should intermingle Veritie, Makes the heart dumpish, and mistrusts Sinceritie. And there is none, who is a Subject true, That can so soone to sorrow say adiew, Whose verie soule is not as yet perplext, Disquieted, turmoyl'd, and soyl'd, and vext, When he remembers (oh! I sigh to tell) King James his bidding to this life farewell; Then blame ye not my rugged, ragged Rimes, O ye, the Nectar-Poets of our times; Halfe sentences, sad words, harsh Tunes and Tones, Best testifie the passionatest moanes; The Sacred-Frenzie, and the sugred straines, I now bequeath unto more happie Veines: For if I ever had a Faculty Of Versifying, it from me did fly, When as this wofull voice was uttered, The mightie Monarch James is lately dead. That now my heart can onely pant, and throbs Speaking imperfect sounds, cut off by sobs. A KING is gone, who for his Wisdomes store, England did never shew the like before; In Poetrie he likewise did excell, And Oratorie as the World can tell; For divers volumes learnedly he writ, Stuft with deepe Art, and Quintessence of wit.
All Graces in his Heart did spring and breed, In Science, Conscience, he did exceed, And in his praise some Poet did indite This Disticke, which I underneath will write; For Wisdome Salomon, David for Pietie, An heav'nly Man, if not an earthly Deitie. His Gracious Spirits did in one combine To make just Lawes, both Morall and Divine. He did invent and vent marks to descrie The colour'd shewes of Romes Idolatrie: He pull'd the maske from off that Skarlet Whore, And made her better knowne than ere before, That all the Kings which live upon this Round, May Romish Babel studie to confound. He fought against her with that mightie Sword, Gods everlasting undiminisht Word. And now may those, who wish Romes overthrow (He gave the onset) strike the second blow. It was enough for him that he defi'd her, And by his writings publiquely descri'd her: He shew'd that Enemie, which once must fall; Happie be they which shall breake downe her wall. Methinkes I see his bookes taking their leave Of him, from whom they Being did receive, And heare his Soule speaking, as it was flying, Being about to leave his bodie dying, Farewell my works, but mayest thou never die, Which doest detect Papall Apostasie: Be thou the Summoner to cause Romes harmes; Fill Realmes with these, or some such like Alarmes, Arise ye Monarchs, looke you, this is she, 'Gainst whom your forces should converted be: Pull downe her Tripple Crowne, settle upon her, Deprive her of her glorie and her honour. Why to yourselves doe you inferre a wound? Joynt-forces ruinate her to the ground. Why doe you live amongst yourselves at jarres? Weakning your powers by your Civill warres: Consent, for you are brethren, agree; Ye all of Rome must joynt Destroyers bee. Why should Manasses eat up Ephraim, And Ephraim, Manasses; Joyne with him, The Lord of Hosts, who saith Babel shall fall; Be ye his Instruments to pull downe all.
I who am dying had determination, To have procur'd this foretold Desolation; And therefore did endevour to keepe peace, That civill warres amongst ourselves should cease: But Heavens did not allot me so great Fame To supplant Rome, though I had such a name; For I must die, my time is come, glasse runne, The Cloud of death must hide my shining Sunne. Rome may perhaps rejoyce, and triumphs keepe, When she shall heare that I am falne asleepe I'th'morning of my warres; but let her know Her Trophees doe before her troubles goe. My hands I sacrifice free from warres staine, Unto that Lord who menaceth her paine. Open ye Heavens, and doe my soule invest, Wars are begun on earth, but let me rest. And now, dread King, I greeve that thou art dead, And yet rejoyce that thou art gathered Unto thy Fathers in Celestiall Peace; For from contending cares thy brest shall cease. And I rejoyce there sits upon thy Throne, The living Picture of dead Salomon. Castor did set, and both his lights did close, But Pollux, or Apollo soone arose; Who shall protect these lands safe round about, And guide their goings in and commings out. Whom Moses-like the Lord from waves did free, And made him Ruler, England, over thee: He did refuse to be of Pharaohs kin, And yeelded not to their blasphemous sin. Whose Crowne upon his head the Lord keepe sure, As long as shall the Sun and Moone endure. Amen.
FINIS. London, Printed for John Wright.