Some teares dropt ore the herse of the incomparable Prince Henry Duke of Gloucester This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A93534 of text771 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.26[7]). 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. 4 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 A93534 Wing S4621 Thomason 669.f.26[7] 99869528 99869528 163889 2240952117

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A93534) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 163889) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 247:669f26[7]) Some teares dropt ore the herse of the incomparable Prince Henry Duke of Gloucester 1 sheet ([1] p.) Printed by W. Godbid for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivy-lane, and Henry Marsh at the Princes-Armes in Chancery-lane neer Fleet-street, London : M.DC.LX. [1660] In verse - "Fatal Semptember to the Royal Line,". Annotation on Thomason copy: "Sept. 20". Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng Henry, -- Duke of Gloucester, 1640-1660 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. A93534 771 (Thomason 669.f.26[7]). civilwar no Some teares dropt ore the herse of the incomparable Prince Henry Duke of Gloucester. anon. 1660 1 528 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. 2007-07 Assigned for keying and markup 2007-07 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-09 Sampled and proofread 2007-09 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
SOME TEARES Dropt ore the Herse Of the INCOMPARABLE PRINCE HENRY Duke of GLOUCESTER . FAtal September to the Royal Line , Has snatch'd one Heröe of our hopeful Trine From Earth ; 't is strange Heav'n should not praedeclare A loss so grievous by some Blazing Star , Which might our Senses overjoy'd , alar'm , And time give to prepare for so great Harm . The Spring-tide of our Joy was newly Flood , Paying our Thankful Vows for so much good We gather now , under a gracious KING ; Inspired Bards began strong Lays to Sing , When ( ôh sad Fate ! ) Ebb'd are our Flowing Seas , And Epiques chang'd to Doleful Elegies . Cruel Extremes ! thus robb'd of Joys the chief , Thrown down like Light'ning into Seas of Grief . 'T is past the reach of Mortals to devine , Why Heav'n so soon has broke our Threefold Line ; We may not pry without a black offence Into th' Arcana's of his Providence , But may believe , since with a Bounteous Hand God has restor'd the Blessings of this Land , That he has flung us into Griefs extreme , Not out of Wrath to Us , but Love to Him . He was Fair Fruit sprung from a Royal Bud , And grown as great by fair Renown as Blood ; Ripe too too soon ; for in a Youth so green An Harvest was of gray-hair'd Wisdome seen . Minerva's Darling , Patron of the Gown , Lover of Learning , and Apollo's Crown He was ; the Muses he began to nourish , Learn'd Men and Arts under his wings did flourish ; But lest we should commit Idolatry , Heav'n took him from our Sight , not Memory ; For though he 's carried to th' Immortal Sphere , Our Loves will make his Fame Immortal here . 'T is Autumn now , and Ceres to our hands Has pour'd the Annual Blessings of our Lands ; We 'ave robb'd the teeming Trees of all their fruit , And left them naked till the Spring recruit Their store again ; till then they hang their head , And stand like Mourners , leaves for tears they shed ; So the high powers Cropt from the Royal Stem , What was too good for us , and fit for them , Whilest we lament , till a new Spring arise , And CHARLS his First-born clear our weeping eyes . A general Sadness locks up every Tongue , Amazedness has struck the Laureats dumb : And who would weep , through too much Grief forbears , Excess of Grief gives yet no vent for Tears , But when the Coming Springs begin to rise , Grief then will draw a deluge from our Eyes ; Till then these Loyal Drops fall'n into Verse , Shall wash the Cypress on his Royal Herse .

London , Printed by W. Godbid for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivy-lane , and Henry Marsh at the Princes-Arms in Chancery-lane neer Fleet-street . M. DC . LX .