The Earle of Strafford his ellegiack poem, as it was pen'd by his owne hand a little before his death. Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of, 1593-1641. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B03310 of text6 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing E83). 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. 3 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 B03310 Wing E83 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.2[7] Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.4[211] 99885039 ocm99885039 182880 2248519862

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B03310) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 182880) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A1:1[7]; A4:2[212]) The Earle of Strafford his ellegiack poem, as it was pen'd by his owne hand a little before his death. Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of, 1593-1641. 1 sheet ([1] p.). s.n.], [London : Printed in the yeare, 1641. Place of publication suggested by Wing. Verse: "State give me leave, and vexe my thoughts no more ..." Reproduction of original in the British Library. eng Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, -- Earl of, 1593-1641. -- Poetry. Political poetry, English -- Early works to 1800. B03310 6 (Wing E83). civilwar no The Earle of Strafford his ellegiack poem, as it was pen'd by his owne hand a little before his death. Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of 1641 1 509 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 2008-08 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-10 Sampled and proofread 2008-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
THE EARLE OF STRAFFORD HIS ELLEGIACK POEM , AS IT Was pen'd by his owne hand a little before his Death . STate give me leave , and vexe my thoughts no more , I have too much within me to deplore My selfe , and it , who both oppress'd doe lye Subjected to a growing Anarchy . I have plough'd through my soule , & articled Against my selfe within me , I have read All my life over , to find out what sin Mov'd Englands , Irelands , & what Scotlands spleen , And dare convince their blinded rage who can Find in me errors more then speake me Man . 'T is dangerous to be great , Treason doth lye To be too gracious in a Princes eye : Use your rage sharpest wit , for all your Art Though you my head , my King shall have my hart . Be wise , Vice-gerents , whose succeeding fate , Shall reare you up unto the height of State , The ladder shakes you climbe on , every Round Is pav'd with icy fate , smiles on the ground From whence you rise , and , unadvis'd , you shall Find , if not sudden , yet a certaine fall . My sinne was too much loyalty , and when That times to come , as sure there will be Men , ( Although this scanted Age vents none , but those Who of old Titles and new fashion'd cloaths Can boast , whose honest judgments doe agree To love the King and feare his subsidie . ) They , in disdaine of their fore-fathers hate , Shall speake my vertues , and lament my Fate . You , you , then ( happier Nephewes ) what I tell So late , so true , accept as Oracle , Where ever Justice calls you , for my sake Be all your Demonstrations faire , nor make A bad distinction , by mistaken zeale T' your Prince , 'twixt him , and 'twixt his Common-weale . Come neerer Death , and let 's imbrace ! but you That with such care and jealousies pursue My spited Soule , although my blood 's no price To your wish'd peace , too weake a Sacrifice To expiate three Kingdomes ; yet from me Take this my last and perfect'st Legacie For all the service I have done the State , My early risings , and my sleeping late , For all those cares kept sad my charge , my long Zeale to my Prince , which you miscoster'd wrong , For all my labours , and in that pursuit My slaughtered honours , and my life to boote , Doe this , and you shall by my counsaile prove Happy on earth as I in Heaven above And though ( for this shall your most comfort bring ) You lov'd not me , yet love my Lord your King . FJNJS .

Printed in the Yeare , 1641.