A Sorrowfull Song[,]
Made upon the murther and untimely death of Sir Thomas Overbury Knight, w[ho]
was poysoned in the Tower of London, by the consent and damnable practices of di-
vers envious person in this Land. To the tune of Essex good night.
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T He saddest tale that ever was told,
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With sorrowfull sobs I here begin,
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[Wh]at trembling feares from young & old,
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May fright away so bloudy a sinne.
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S[ir] Thomas Overbury was he,
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For whom my heavy heart makes mone:
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Never was Knight of his degree,
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By fained love thus overthrowne.
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In Englands Court he was approv'd,
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A wise, a kinde, and courteous Knight,
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Of rich and poore likewise belov'd
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For vertue was his hearts delight.
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Where sin prevaild, his counsells gave
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Still caveats to his choycest friends,
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How God would no proceedings have,
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That aimed not at noble ends,
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And where he lov'd he could not hate,
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But tould them still of their amisse:
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Though personages of noble state,
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How wanton will dishonor is.
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Hereat both grudge, and envy lurk't
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Within those hearts to mischiefe bent,
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Who being toucht, a practise work't,
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That he to Londons Tower was sent.
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Yet still suspecting nothing [le]sse,
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Then their best loves to [h?] in deard,
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With pa[ti]ence past he heaviness[?]
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And of their falshood little feard.
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Prepared they a poyson strong,
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His liberty by death to bring.
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The which was by one Weston broug[ht]
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A messenger of deadly spight:
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Unknowne (God wot) there to have wrou[ght]
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The death of this renowned Knight.
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But God not suffring [w]as [?]n,
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At first to take his [?] away
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Another draught was sent agen,
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Impatient of sunch [l]ong delay.
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By Tarts and dishes of repast,
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With deadly poyson saust therein,
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Desiring still a speedy hast,
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To finish up this bloudy sinne.
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At which he tooke with thankfulnes,
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A[s] dainties from his loving friends:
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Untill at last all comfortles,
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His gentle life with poyson ends,
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For whom much heavy [me?e] was m[?]
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But chiefly of his kindred deare:
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[?t] envy had not him betr[a]yed
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He might have lived full many a year
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But Weston that attended still,
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Like Judas on his maisters [d]ish.
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Wrought cunningly with right good [will]
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Performanc of a cursed wish.
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For enviously when he was dead,
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To cover by the murther more:
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[?] would [?] spread
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[?]
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The Second part of the Murder of Sir Thomas Overbury.
To the same tune.
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O F which (good Knight) he rotting dyed,
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To him and to his friends disgrace:
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Was ever man so false belyed,
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By flanders from a varlet base.
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[A]lasse good Knight too well is knowne,
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The wofull manner of thy death:
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By envy thou art overthrowne,
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Yet live thy [mas]ses still on earth.
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Yea all the Plotters of thy fall
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By whom thou hast beene bought and sold:
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Are now by heaven discovered all,
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And not a practise left untold.
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And blood for blood for vengeance cryes,
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As law and justice doth ordaine:
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[S]o murder long in secret lyes,
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Where Conscience lives in lingring paine.
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Though long this murder lay unknowne,
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The Lord at last brought all to light:
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And for the same full many a one,
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Just have the doomes of law by right.
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First Weston he hath suffered de[at]h,
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For this his wilfull black offence,
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[?]ay never more in such a path,
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[?]un races to the like pretence.
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[C]hiefe instrument this wretch was made,
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[T]o act the plots of sad [?]isse:
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[W]hose flattering tongue full soone betraid,
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[H]is life (good Knight) that murdered is.
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Next Turners wife for borrowed grace,
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Of Greatnes, dipt her hands in blood:
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She brought in poysoned drugges apace,
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Where death and danger chiefly stood.
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For which too late s[e]e did repent,
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With many a bitter weeping teare:
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And so through London streets was sent,
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To pay fo[r] [th]ose offences deare.
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And Franklin thats condemnd to dye,
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With guilty conscience hath confest:
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What in his heart did secret lye,
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To give his burthened be[s?m]e rest.
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Theres many more whose credits late,
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In Englan[d] florisht with renowne:
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Whose graceles lives from good estate,
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Hath tumbled all good fortune downe.
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But God hee knows how they shall spee[d]
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When Justice shall their cases try:
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Well may their hearts with sorrow blee[d]
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That forst so good a Knigt to dye,
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His blood no doubt reveng'd will be,
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On every one that h[a]d a hand
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Therein, that all the world may see,
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The royall Justice of our Land.
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And for our King that so maintaines,
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True Justice, let us hourely pray:
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Our safeties all on him remaines,
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And so God grant they ever may,
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