A lamentable new Ballad upon the Earle of Essex death.
To the tune of the Kings last Good-night.
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ALL you that cry, O hone O hone
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come now and sing, O Lord with me,
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For why our Jewell is from us gone,
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the valiant Knight of Chivalrie:
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Of rich and poore beloved was he,
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in time an honorable Knight,
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When by our Lawes condemd to dye,
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and lately tooke his last Goodnight.
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Count him not like to Saint nor Campion,
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(those traitrous men) or Babington,
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Nor like the Earle of Westmerland,
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by whom a number were undone:
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He never yet hurt mothers sonne,
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his quarrell stil maintaind the right:
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Which makes the tears my cheeks down run:
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when I thinke on his last Good-night.
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The Portingales can witnes be,
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his Dagger at Lisbone gate he flung,
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And like a knight of Chivalrie,
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his chaine upon the gate he hung:
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Would God that he would thither come,
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to fetch them both in order right:
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Which thing was by his honor done,
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yet lately tooke his last Good-night.
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The Frenchmen they can testifie,
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the towns of Gourney he tooke in:
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And marched to Roane immediately,
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not caring for his foes a pin.
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With bullets then he pierced their skin,
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and made them flee far from his sight:
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He at that time did credit win,
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and now hath tane his last Good-night.
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And stately Cales can witnes well:
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even by his Proclamation right,
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He did command them all straightly,
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to have a care of Infants lives:
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That none should ravish maide nor wife,
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which was against their order right:
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Therefore they praid for his long life,
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which lately tooke his last Good-night.
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Would God he had ne're Ireland knowne,
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nor set his feet on Flanders ground:
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Then might we well injoyed our owne,
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where now our Jewell will not be found.
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Which makes our woes still to abound,
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trickling with salt teares in my sight:
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To heare his name in our eares to sound,
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Lord Devereux tooke his last Goodnight.
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Ashwednesday that dismall day,
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when he came forth of his Chamber doore,
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Upon the Scaffold there he saw,
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his headsman standing him before.
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The Nobles all they did deplore,
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shedding their salt teares in his sight:
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He said, farewell to rich and poore,
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at his good morrow and good-night.
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Farewell Elizabeth my gratious Queene,
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God blesse thee and thy counsell all:
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Farewell my Knights of Chivalrie,
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farewell my soldiers stout and tall:
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Farewell the Commons great and small,
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into the hands of men I light:
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My life shall make amends for all,
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for Essex bids the world good-night.
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Farewell deare wife and children three,
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farewell my young and tender son,
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Comfort yourselves mourne not for me,
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although your fall be now begun:
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My time is come the glasse is run,
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comfort yourselves in former light,
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Seeing by my fall you are undone,
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your Father bids the world Good-night.
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Derrick thou knowst at Cales I sav'd
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thy life, lost for a rape there done,
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Which thou thyselfe canst testifye,
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thine owne hand three and twenty hung:
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But now thou seest my time is come,
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by chance into thy hands I light.
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Strike out thy blow that I may know,
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thou Essex lov'dst at his good-night.
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When England counted me a Papist,
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the workes of Papists I defie,
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I nere worshipt Saint, nor Angell in heaven,
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nor to the Virgin Mary I,
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But to Christ which for my sinnes did dye,
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trickling with sad teares in his sight:
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Spreading my armes to God on high,
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Lord Jesus, receive my soule this night.
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