An Elegy upon the death of King Charls This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A39188 of text R38485 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing E465). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 2 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A39188 Wing E465 ESTC R38485 09811578 ocm 09811578 44142 2248503025

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A39188) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 44142) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1355:25) An Elegy upon the death of King Charls 1 broadside. s.n., [London : 1649?] Reproduction of original in the Huntington Library. eng Charles -- I, -- King of England, 1600-1649. Elegiac poetry. A39188 R38485 (Wing E465). civilwar no An elegie upon the death of King Charls. [no entry] 1649 1 284 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2008-05 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-07 Sampled and proofread 2008-07 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
An ELEGIE upon the Death of King CHARLS . BRight Soul ! instruct us Mortals how to mourn , How to approach , yet not profane thine Urn . To come with Humane Sighs , or Eyes , Were sure too bold a Sacrifice . Lest a foul tear or nauseous gust Should scatter or defile thy Dust , We should in homage to thy Shrine Weep out our humour Crystalline , Which there congeal'd might Sapphirs turn By borrowing Lustre from thine Urn . They only know such Losses to Condole , Who can for every Sigh , breathe out a Soul . Bright Soul ! instruct us to that just respect With which thy Hallowed Ashes must be deckt . To build them Trophees were unjust : Thy Vertues canopy thy Dust . To write upon them were unsafe : Thy name is thy best Epitaph . To carve thy Statue were amisse : Thy Book thy best Colossus is . T' inclose thy Reliques were uneven : No Shrine is fit for them , but Heaven . Can Nothing lend thee Lustre ? may we turn Nothing , if nothing can adorn thine Urn . CHORUS . Hark , hark , how each Orb his Tune doth keep , While Peals of Angels ring ; And since we cannot fitly weep , Let 's try how we can sing . Since Charles advanc'd beyond the King , Is plac'd above his wain , 'T were sure a sacrilegious thing To weep him down again . Then let our accents all conspire With Heav'ns loud harmonyes ; While this short Anthem fills the Quire , He 's welcome to the Skyes .