THE EARLE OF
STRAFFORD HIS
ELLEGIACK POEM, AS IT
Was pen'd by his owne hand a little before
his Death.
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STate give me leave, and vexe my thoughts no more,
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I have too much within me to deplore
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Myselfe, and it, who both opress'd doe lye
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Subjected to a growing Anarchy.
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I have plough'd through my soule, & articled
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Against myselfe within me, I have read
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All my life over, to find out what sin
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Mov'd Englands, Irelands, & what Scotlands spleen,
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And dare convince their blinded rage who can
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Find in me errors more then speake me Man.
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'Tis dangerous to be great, Treason doth lye
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To be too gracious in a Princes eye:
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Use your rage sharpest wit, for all your Art
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Though you my head, my King shall have my hart.
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Be wise, Vice-gerents, whose succeeding fate,
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Shall reare you up unto the height of State,
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The ladder shakes you climbe on, every Round
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Is pav'd with icy fate, smiles on the ground
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From whence you rise, and, unadvis'd, you shall
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Find, if not sudden, yet a certaine fall.
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My sinne was too much loyalty, and when
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That times to come, as sure there will be Men,
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(Although this scanted Age vents none, but those
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Who of old Titles and new fashion'd cloaths
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Can boast, whose honest judgments doe agree
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To love the King and feare his subsidie.)
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They, in disdaine of their fore-fathers hate,
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Shall speake my vertues, and lament my Fate.
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You, you, then (happier Nephewes) what I tell
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So late, so true, accept as Oracle,
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Where ever Justice calls you, for my sake
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Be all your Demonstrations faire, nor make
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A bad distinction, by mistaken zeale
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T'your Prince, 'twixt him, and 'twixt his Common-weale.
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Come neerer Death, and let's imbrace! but you
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That with such care and jealousies pursue
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My spited Soule, although my blood's no price
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To your wish'd peace, too weake a Sacrifice
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To expiate three Kingdomes; yet from me
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Take this my last and perfect'st Legacie
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For all the service I have done the State,
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My early risings, and my sleeping late,
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For all those cares kept sad my charge, my long
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Zeale to my Prince, which you misconster'd wrong,
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For all my labours, and in that pursuit
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My slaughtered honours, and my life to boote,
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Doe this, and you shall by my counsaile prove
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Happy on earth as I in Heaven above
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And though (for this shall your most comfort bring)
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You lov'd not me, yet love my Lord your King.
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