A Lamentable ballad on the Earl of Essexs Death. Tune is, Essex last Goodnight.
|
ALL you that cry O hone, O hone,
|
come now and sing O hone with me,
|
For why our Jewel is from us gone,
|
the valiant Knight of Chivalry:
|
Of rich and poor belov'd was he,
|
in time an honourable knight,
|
When by our Laws condemn'd to die,
|
He lately took his last Goodnight.
|
Count him not like to Champion,
|
those traiterous men of Babington,
|
Nor like the Earl of Westmoorland,
|
by whom a number were undone:
|
He never yet hurt Mothers Son,
|
his quarrel still maintains the right,
|
Which the tears my face down run,
|
when I think on his last goodnight.
|
The Portugals can witness be,
|
his Dagger at Lisbon gate he flung,
|
And like a Knight of Chivalry,
|
his Chain upon the Gate he hung;
|
I would to God that he would come,
|
to fetch them back in order right,
|
Which thing was by his honour done,
|
yet lately took their last goodnight.
|
The French-men they can testifie,
|
the town of Gourney he took in,
|
And marcht to Rome immediately,
|
not caring for his foes a pin:
|
With Bullets then he pierc'd his skin,
|
and made them fly from his sight:
|
He there that time did credit win,
|
and now hath tane his last goodnight.
|
And stately Cales can witness be,
|
even by his Proclamation right,
|
And did command them all straightly,
|
to have a care of Infants lives,
|
And that none should hurt man or wife,
|
which was against their right;
|
Therefore they pray'd for his long life,
|
which lately took his last goodnight.
|
would God he ne'er had Ireland known,
|
nor set one foot on Flanders ground,
|
Then might we well injoy'd our own,
|
where now our jewel will not be found,
|
which makes our foes still abound;
|
trickling with sal[t] tears in our sight,
|
To hear his name in our ears to sound,
|
Lord Deverux took his last goodnight.
|
Ash wednesday, that dismal day,
|
when he came forth his Chamber door,
|
Upon a Scaffold there he saw,
|
his Headsman standing him before:
|
His Nobles all they did deplore,
|
shedding salt tears in his sight,
|
He said farewel to rich and poor,
|
at his goodmorrow and goodnight.
|
My Lords, said he, you stand but by
|
to see performance of the law,
|
It is I that have deserv'd to die,
|
and yield myself unto the blow;
|
I have deserv'd to die I know,
|
but ne'er against my Countries right,
|
Nor to my Queen was ever foe,
|
upon my death at my goodnight.
|
Farewel, Elizabeth, my gracious Queen,
|
God bless thee with thy Council all;
|
Farewel my Knights of Chivalry,
|
farewel my Souldiers stout and tall,
|
Farewel the Commons great and small,
|
into the hands of men I light,
|
My life shall make amends for all,
|
for Essex bids the world goodnight.
|
Farewel dear wife, and children three,
|
farewel my kind and tender son;
|
Comfort yourselves, mourn not for me,
|
although your fall be now begune,
|
My time is come, my glass is run,
|
comfort yourself in former light,
|
Seeing by my fall you are undone,
|
your Father bids the world goodnight.
|
Derick, thou know'st at Cales I sav'd
|
thy life, lost for a Rape there done,
|
As thou thyself canst testifie,
|
thine own hand three and twenty hung,
|
But now thou seest myself is come,
|
by chance into thy hands I light,
|
Strike out thy blow. that I may know,
|
thou Essex lov'd at his goodnight.
|
when England counted me a Papist,
|
the works of papists I defie,
|
I ne're worshipt Saint nor Angel in Heaven,
|
nor the Virgin Mary, I;
|
But to Christ, which for my sins did die,
|
trickling with salt tears in his sight,
|
Spreading my arms to God on high,
|
Lord Jesus receive my soul this night.
|
|
|
|
|
|