On the Barbarous, Execrable, and Bloody
Murder of the Earl of Essex.
To the Tune of, My Life and my Death.
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ATtend and give Ear, good Christians to me,
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Whilst I do relate Rome's black Cruelty;
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Of a horrid great murder (which now is review'd)
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On the brave Earl of Essex, whom Papists pursu'd:
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But God will not suffer this Murder to die,
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His Blood still for Vengance from Heaven doth cry.
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The Chief Actor in it is brought to the Light,
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Who, by Money, was tempted to act this great Spight;
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His Conscience, and Actions now fly in his Face,
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And says, He deserves to die with Disgrace:
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His Soul he did venture for luker of Gains;
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In Showres of Gold he was paid for his Pains.
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But the great Villain Bomene, he is not yet found,
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Who provided the Razor that gave the great Wound:
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His Lord and his Master, this Judas betray'd,
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And to see his Blood Split was no ways afraid:
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But this Valet de Chambre I hope to see hang'd,
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And Popery banish'd quite out of the Land.
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True Justice, I doubt not, will now act its Part,
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And pay off each Ruffian to his Just Desert;
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Tho' the Devil a while, may seem their good Friend,
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He'll bring 'em to Shame and Disgrace in the End.
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For there's a just God, that will judge Equity,
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And sees all their Actions wherever they fly.
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[Now when these great] Villains had his Life took away,
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Himself he did Murder, they with Impudence say:
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But all that assisted his Life to deprive,
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Must never expect in this World to thrive:
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The Powers above will bring all things about,
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Tho' ever so Secret, at length 'twill come out.
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My Heart it grieves sore, who ne're did him see,
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That such a brave Peer should so murder'd be;
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'Twill ne'r be forgot, with great nor with Small,
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That He by the Hands of the Papists did fall:
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Tho' some, who are absent, the Murder did please,
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And Jesuits thought themselves then at full Ease.
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He ne'r wanted Courage, nor of Death was afraid,
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By greatest of Dangers could not be dismy'd:
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Then why should we think him so poor a Slave,
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As to murder himself for fear of the Grave:
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But impudent Villains, charge him with th' Guilt,
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Of shedding that Blood which by Papists was spilt.
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They by Stealth did him kill with a secret Stroke,
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And silenc'd that Voice which charm'd when it spoke,
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The Blood from his Throat did o'erflow the Ground,
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And like to a River did run from his Wound:
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Thus the Pious Essex, a Victim do's fall,
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But his Soul, near the Altar, for Vengeance doth call.
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For no question in Heaven 'tis mounted most high,
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Out of the Danger of Rome's Treachery:
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Attended by Angels and Spiritual Charms,
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In Glory and Splendor, free from all Harms:
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'Tis far better Joys than this sinful Globe brings,
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To sing Hallelujahs to th' greatest of Kings.
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But whilst we are mortal, the stoutest of Heart,
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Tho' loth, must submit to Death's cruel Dart;
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Whose Cup is so bitter we'd willingly pass by,
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Yet when it doth come, who can it deny?
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Then let us be Watchful, and always prepare,
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Left Death unawares, catch us in a Snare.
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