Anglorum Lacrimae: In a sad passion com­playning the death of our late Soueraigne Lady Queene ELIZABETH:

Yet comforted againe by the vertuous hopes of our most Royall and Renowned King IAMES: whose Maiestie God long continue.

[royal blazon or coat of arms]

Imprinted at London for T. Pauier, and are to be solde at the signe of the Catte and Parr [...]ts neare the Exchange. 1603.

To the right Honorable ROBERT LEE, Lord Maior of the Honorable Citie of London, and to the right Worshipfull the Knights and Aldermen of the same: health and happinesse long to continue.

RIght Honorable, and Worshipfull of this Cittie, being ouerpressed with the heauie burthen of Sorrow, and almost ouer­come with griefe, for the losse of our late deceassed Queene; whom both you, and all others, sustaines a part: I am in dutie bound (in the behalfe of many thou­sandes) to giue a sad farewell to her Ex­cellencie; the onely and last seruice that a Subiectes true hart can bestow. Vouchsafe therefore (Right Honorable and Wor­shipfull) as a memoriall of your late loue to her Maiestie, to Patronize these tearefull Lines: and then no doubt, but Anglorum Lacrimae will be comforted with Anglorum Gaudia, being guyded by the vertues of our gracious King: vnder whose Royall gouernment, all England is made happie, and a golden time is brought vnto our Countrey.

Yours in all duetie to be commaunded, a poore Freeman of this Cittie, Richard Iohnson.

Anglorum Lacrimae.

O Sacred QVEENE, [...]ith now thy life is spent,
And that our liues, out-liues the life of thee:
Pale sorowes kingdome shal our harts frequent
Teares & true passions shal our mourners bee:
For England now more sorrows doth con­taine,
Then there is wealth in all the Ocian maine.
Oh now what dolefull Ditties shall we make?
What mournefull Songes of sorrow shall we sing?
What comfort or sweete pleasure can we take,
When Death hath broke ELIZAES vitall string?
Breake hartes with griefe, and let each lyuing soule,
Exchange earthes ioyes, for euerlasting dole.
Oh wherefore doth not Phoebus loose his light,
And fall from Heauen, vpon the Earth to mourne?
Why is not dayes fayre brightnes changde to night?
And ioyes to griefe: all loues to hatred turne?
For Beauties soueraigne, and true Vertues Queene,
May now with mortall eyes no more be seene.
With bleeding [...]ares come wash all ioyes away,
That discontent vpon o [...] browes may shine:
The Deste [...]ies haue wrought her liues decay,
Whom Europe tearm'd Celestiall and Deuine ▪
Oh England then bewayle this [...]tall crosse,
For neuer had English men a greater losse.
Our eyes shall [...] her Tomb [...] with shewers of teares:
Our m [...]anes shall make the [...]ones to weepe for pittie:
All those which this sadd [...] way [...]efull murmure heares,
Shall ring Grie [...]es echo in each English Cittie.
No Kingdome lik [...]o this hath ouer mournd,
For her whose flesh the [...] to dust haue turnd.
All you that lyued in her Princely Court,
Come [...] your pleasant Songes to dolefull Cryes:
With tragicke Teares [...]omm [...] your Comicke sport,
And let your [...] be [...] with weeping Eyes:
For shee too soone hath bid the world adue:
Thus by her losse, we are compeld to rue.
How can we choose but fall into a sound,
When we remember this sweete Princes fall:
Let our true sorrowes make her death renound,
And with hartes griefe grace out her Funerall:
Exclayming still with euerlasting cryes,
Vertue growes sickly; and true Honour dyes
As Nobles mourne, so let the Plough man weepe:
As Courtiers griue, so let the Country grone.
Let all estates in sorrowes mansion keepe:
A sadder time was neuer in England knowne:
what is he that can vouchsafe a smile,
Hauing lost ELIZA, Monarch of this Ile.
Weepe now Oh Cloudes vpon the grassie Earth,
With drops of sorrow pierce the hardest Stones▪
while we lament our Gracious Princes death?
whose soule [...] in the Celestiall thrones:
Ope wide you [...] of the [...]stall Skie,
Sende downe more shewers for her mortallitie.
Where shall we wofull men go [...]orrow teares,
To teach the Rockes in streaming shewers to weepe:
All times and seasons, [...], monthes, and yeeres,
Consult to keepe our wished ioyes asleepe.
Thus all in vaine we dayly haue deplorde
Her losse of life, which cannot be restorde.
The cruell Destenies are much to blame,
To cut her threed of life ere throughly spunne:
Her life burnde out like to a Tapers flame:
And thus the Houre glasse of our ioyes is runne,
Yea all those ioyes [...] we had want to haue,
Are fled to [...] in her graue.
VVe mus [...] what eye there is that will not weepe,
VVhen we shall tell this lamentable storie,
That she is dead and in the dust doth sleepe,
Although her soule is crownd with lasting glorie;
I thinke the world will be dissolu'd to teares,
VVhen this sad tale shall penitrate mens eares.
Were it not that King IAMES did now suruiue,
Our drooping soules with griefe would surely perish:
If this worldes mirrour onely, hee aliue
did not with virtue still our comfortes nurrish:
we should go languish in some obscure den,
From heauens faire sight, and company of men.
We rue the losse of true Nobilitie,
Whilome inuested in her noble brest:
Wisedome and Vertue linckt with Maiestie,
Were all in her: yet she by death supprest:
We more lament then all the world beside,
Our deare loues losse, that late in England dide.
She euer sought her Subiectes wronges to right:
She still maintainde her natiue Countries lawes.
She that in trueth and iustice did delight,
Is now consumde by deaths deuowring iawes.
All flesh is frayle, and vnto dust must turne:
Yet for her losse, all England needes must mourne.
Let all men know that she deserues more prayse,
Then our poore tonges are able to bestow:
Well may we crowne her death with glorious Bayes,
For through the world her honored Fame doth blow:
Her Vertues merit Homers golden Pen,
To print her prayse with teares of Gods and men.
Oh that from Heauens high throne thy soule might see,
The mournefull dayes that for thy losse we spend:
The floodes of teares that we haue shed for thee,
Are numberlesse: our sorrowes haue no end:
But all in vaine, her body lyes in Lead,
Whom sad lamentes cannot recall from dead.
Let Schollers pennes write Volumes of our griefe,
For sorrowes makes vs passionate and dombe:
Let euery Tonge tell wofull tales in briefe:
Eternall sadnesse to our hartes is come:
Let euery Hand acte passion of his minde,
And still complaine the Fates are too vnkinde.
Oh wretched world where still the fayrest flowers
Are soonest blasted with the stormes of Death.
Oh furious Fates! Oh all you angrie Powers!
You might haue graunted her mortall breath:
But, Ah, all heauen reioycing at her prayse,
For vertues sake abridg'd her earthly dayes.
Mee thinkes I see all Artes and Skilles disgrast,
All Sciences with bitter woes opprest:
Fine Eloquence and Rethoricke quight defast:
And all the Vertues in her Royall brest:
The learned Tonges which she was perfect in,
Are now growne dumbe, in pennance for our sin.
Her lookes were sober, full of pleasant cheare:
Her Wisedome great, with Maiestie admierd:
From Subiectes harts she won both loue and feare:
With heauenly graces was her soule inspierd:
Then England swimme in teares, thy light is lost,
Thy Sunne is set, whose beames did cheare thy coast.
Mee thinkes I see in mourning weedes arayde,
How Chasterie now sighing sittes alone.
Mee thinkes I see how Souldiers are dismayde,
And euery States-mans hart made sicke with moane.
Those eyes that wept not many a day before,
Of teares are now constraind to shed great store.
Oh that some heauenly Muse would paynt her prayse,
Whose brest was tearm'd true Wisedomes sacred spring.
[...]ueth and Religion florisht in her dayes,
Peereles to all the world; but to our KING:
Heauen loues this Countrey, and doth grace it thus,
In sending one like Salomon to vs.
Yet gracious QVEENE, needes must we hold thee deare,
And euermore thinke on thy Virgin raigne:
In peace thou ruld vs foure and fourtie yeare,
Spight of proude Rome, and ambitious Spaine.
Oh Heauens! why fround you on this sinfull earth,
In taking from vs Queene ELIZABETH.
But since the Destenies haue been seueare
To rob the earth of her azurd delight:
There is a place in Heauen deuoyde of feare,
Then any earthly Mansion farre more bright:
Where free from harmes or any sad anoy,
ELIZAS soule shall haue eternall ioy.
And now her soule infranchised from thrall
Of sinfull flesh, assendes the christall Skie:
Where as the Trumpets of the Lord doth call
His chosen flocke to ioyes eternetie:
Let Reason then reforme each sad mans Sence:
The world is woe: they happyest that are hence.
Mee thinkes I see her soule now freed from thrall
Of sinfull flesh, assending to the Skie:
Scorning to dwell heere in this earthly vale,
Where all men rise to fall, and liue to die.
Therefore she soard aboue a humaine pitch,
And with her Vertues doth all Heauen inrich.
Then ioy oh Heauens, inioy earthes Ornament,
Whose soule vp to the Cherubines is fled:
Her body to the Earth doth now r [...]lent:
Both Heauen and Earth lou'd her aliue and dead:
Her flesh vnto the Earth resolu'd, doth die,
Her soule vp to the highest Heauens doth flie.
Shee now amongst the blessed Sainctes doth dwell,
Where Patriarkes and the Apostles sit:
Which shall iudge the twelue Tribes of Israell,
According as to their desartes is fit:
And there shee now obtaines a glorious roome,
According to the Lords most sacred doome.
As heere on earth, this QVEENE was magnified
Aboue the common sort in high degree,
In Heauen shee shall be much more glorified,
And shall inioy the full felicetie.
And all such Princes as heere raigne a right,
Shall haue their place in Heauen with Angels bright.
R. I.
FINIS.

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