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AN ELOGIE, AND EPITAPH, Conſecrated to the ever Sacred Me­mory of that moſt ILLUSTRIOUS, and Incomparable MONARCH, CHARLES, By the Grace of God, of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, late King, &c.

Together with an Elogy and Epitaph upon the truely lamented death of that Excellent patterne of perfect Magnanimity, Virtue, Va­lour, and Loyalty, Arthur Lord Capell.

With ſome ſtreames of remembrance iſſued from the bloods of his Noble Fellow-ſufferers, Duke Hamil­ton, and Henry Earle of Holland.

By F. H. Philomuſus.

Printed in the Yeare, 1649.


An Elogie and Epitaph, &c.

HOwle, howle, diſtracted Kingdome, let thy cryes
Like Dragons roarings, terrifie the earth,
Amaze the Heavens, fright Hell, and darke the skyes;
For now thy throwes have iſſued a curſed birth:
Let the Sun bluſh, and all the trembling ſtarres
Refraine beſpangling of their moving Spheares,
Untill they ſee the termine of our jarres;
Let this, of all, be deleated from yeeres,
Leſt in't the guilt of King-ſhed ſacred bloud.
Increaſe t' a torrent, period in a floud.
O could we ſee the depth of our diſtreſſe
With Linxceys eyes! it would torment our ſoules:
All Rhetorique's dumbe, our anguiſh to expreſſe,
Horror our mourning, feare our teares controules;
Th'imminent judgements and impetuous ſtormes
Hov'ring in vengeance ore our hardned Nation,
Makes zeale for woe, rave in prepoſterous formes,
And ſtretch our heart-ſtrings on the Racke of paſſion,
Whil'ſt bleeding ſoules, in ſtead of dropping eyes
Bedewes the foot-ſteps to our miſeries.
Rent, rent your hearts, your garments are defil'd
Ye trayterous Nation, with your deare Kings bloud;
Whil'ſt th'hopefull branches of his root exil'd,
Adds a full ſea to our afflictions floud:
Ye have betray'd a gratious King to death
Ye murtherous varlets, by your baſe revolt
From th' Diadem to th' dunghill, could the breath,
That nine yeares ſince his glory did exalt
Unto the Heavens, with curſed yealps now cry,
Give us theſe Barrabbeſſes? let our Soveraigne die.
Buſiris like, ye murderers did ye dreame,
Heaven would raine peace f••this ſtrange Sacrifice?
Ye ſhould have let your owne ours'd bloods to ſtreame,
And quench'd the flame of all our miſeries:
But he in Lamb-like ſufferings hath wrought
More then Herculian conqueſt o're your rage,
Though with the deare price of his blood y' have bought
England th' Aceldama; your dreadfull ſtage,
Whereon y'have acted ſuch a Tragedy,
Nero had wept, had he but liv'd to ſee:
Had he by Schythians, or a ruder hand,
Been raviſh'd from us to his Crowne of glory,
Reaſon might o're our paſſions claime command,
Becauſe their natures yielde their acts a ſtory:
But for a Tribe of Hypocrites to lurke
Under the wings of Zeale and Reformation,
Till they had finiſh'd Satans maſter-worke,
And ruin'd all the Bulworks of our Nation:
Thus making God, whoſe Soule abhorres all evills,
Seeme to command thoſe acts proclaime them Divells.
Trembled yee not, yee Furies, for to ſee
When yee conven'd, ſuch reverence in his face?
Such high deportment, ſacred Majeſty,
Such radiant Luſter, and ſuch awefull Grace?
No, no, thriving Rebellion's mov'd no more
With ſuch transfixions, then a flint with teares;
But their deſire to wallow in his goare
Have proved them ſuch, nor God nor Devill feares;
But in contempt of both, have challeng'd all
The powers of VENGEANCE on their heads to fall.
Yee viperous broode, who with your ſubtill teeth,
Unſeene, have gnawne through th'bowels of our State:
Thinke yee REVENGE with REGICIDE agreeth?
Or Kingdome ruines can ſhake hands with hate?
Thinke yee the extirpation of a Race
Divinely Royall, can eſtabliſh Peace?
Or ſeat rude Traytors in our Princes place?
Or blood can fill our garners with increaſe?
No, no, VENGEANCE but writes in theſe red letters
How much to Hell, and torment ye are debters.
But Reader, leſt our ſorrows and exclaims
Should ſeeme for one whoſe graces are forgot,
Becauſe Rebellion tooke ſuch tedious pains
His ſpotleſſe ſoule, with helliſh guilt to blot:
Though language faulter, and our Contemplation
Reach but the Idea of his bleſt perfection;
Yet let our groans disburthen's of ſome paſſion;
Communicating Mourners (Sans exception)
May clap a plaudit, to th' eternall Fame
Of him, whoſe exit ſeal'd our laſting ſhame.
Would yee have Heaven in a choice Cabinet
Treaſure her richeſt graces up in ſtore
For a ſelected people to be ſet
In th' Arke of their affections? he was more,
For the continued fire of Divine ZEALE,
For his Redeemers glory did inflame
The darkeſt angles of our Common-weale;
He was a burning Light, whoſe ſhining Fame
Made ENGLAND ſeeme, once, as ſhe had conſpir'd
With radiant truth the world t' have wholly fir'd.
RELIGION was enhaunc'd to ſuch a price
In his eſteeme, 't ſeem'd as Devotion had
Been onely moulded by his exerciſe,
(To make the ZEALOUS-HEARTED truly glad:)
Nor onely in a Cell his piety,
Gave life to th' houes of his well ſpent dayes;
But in the Temple of the Diety,
He oft proclaimed his Creatours praiſe:
So fervent in, of prayer, ſo rich a prizer,
As earth had had no other Sacrificer.
Have ye obſerv'd the curling Maine to treaſure
Each Rivers Off-ſpring in her ſpacious wombe,
Rendring to every Fountaine her juſt meaſure,
Making her ſelfe againe their tributes tombe;
So did this Sea of wiſedome ſtill receive
Th'iſſuing Rivolets of ingenious ſtore,
Nor did he by retention thus bereave
Them of their wealth, but rendred foure fold more,
To each ſmall Spring that ſtream'd pure waters forth,
Yet ſtill reſerv'd's owne inexhauſtine worth.
The Arts in him conſpired to erect
A laſting fabrick to eternity,
Whoſe concave did containe the true effect
Of the moſt abſolute ACADEMIE:
Had ye obſerv'd, this Mirour did preſent
The Sciences in an EPITOMIE;
Or rather't ſeem'd they had beene onely ſent
From him to borrow light and dignity;
Each Science ſerving but t' attend and doe
Thoſe Acts that his perfection prompt them to.
So highly Gods pure worſhip did he tender,
That in his lateſt exigent of breath
He prov'd himſelfe our ſaving faiths Defender,
By ſigning with his blood 'ts reprieve from death;
Still David-like in valour he appear'd,
And in his troubles Job and David too,
For Patient Magnanimity, y' have heard,
Were perfect patterns of his tedious woe,
Who SAMPSON like, drownd in his laſt ſpilt goare
Thouſands of ſoules, that laugh'd at's greefe before.
Now ſnarle accurſed ENVIE, let thy gall
Burſt with thy Venome, for this object will
Rebound thy blunt aſpertions, like a wall
Of Adamant, (thy meager ſoule to kill:)
And when the Armies of our Nation ſhall
Diſclaime to treaſure, with his glory, our ſhame,
His glories tryumph in our fatall fall,
T' eternity ſhall ſtill preſerve his Fame:
For death hath murder'd in this cruel ſtroke
Three Kingdomes Honours, and their Baſis broke.
Reſt ſacred Mattyr, whoſe bleſt Temples are
Crown'd with the glory of thy SAVIOURS merit,
And let theſe Traytors for thy Scepter jarre,
Whilſt thou a heavenly Kingdome do'ſt inherit;
And though we languiſh in a dying life.
Yet may thy Royal Off-ſpring be preſerv'd
From being butcher'd on our ſtage of ſtrife,
(More ſwift to urge our vengeance, juſt deſerv'd,)
And whilſt the woes of REGICIDES increaſe,
May thy blood be our Sacrifice of peace.


Reader, here lies three Kingdomes Peace,
Their Honours, plenty, and increaſe
Religion, Learning, Faith, Law, Grace,
Are all inſhrin'd in this ſmall place;
One accurs'd Inſtrument of wrath and woe,
Made three brave Kingdomes headleſſe with a blow.


WRetched'ſt of Kingdomes, late the world admir'd
Thy glorious Luſtre, State, magnificence,
Untill prepoſtrous ZEALE thy brambles fir'd.
Whoſe rage hath ruin'd all thy excellence;
Thus Heaven we ſee when Kingdomes but augment,
Their ſinnes appeare, or plenties doe increaſe,
(And with choyce mercies their baſe luſts foment)
Can change th'abuſed benefits of peace
Into continued judgements, as Heaven woo'd
Drownd's in a deluge of our nobleſt blood.
Suffic'd it not your thirſt (ye hell-fir'd ſoules)
T' have drunke the dregs of wrath in your Kings gore?
But muſt ye quaffe damnations healths in bowles
Of our Peeres blood, t'intoxicate ye more?
Feed ye upon our poore like bread, and will
Nought ſurfet ye? nor Prince, nor peoples meanes?
Muſt Lords eſtates your Idoll panches fill?
Can Heaven deſigne's no plagues but theſe extreames?
No, no, tis juſt that Tyranny and Hate
Should feed on people ripened in debate.
Me thinks it ſeemes a wonder ye ſhould thirſt
After ye have drunke the Royall fountayne dry:
But oh! that blood exaſperates your curs't
Inſatiate drought; whoſe rage will never die
Whil'ſt ſtreames of noble tincture flow in vaines
Of chryſtall, t'out ſhine yours of Stygian hue;
Your ſoules though di'd with Regicidiall ſtaines,
Muſt be redrench'd in blood of Worthies too,
And leſt ſwift vengeance ſeize ye on lifes ſhore,
Yee'l ſwim to hell ore ſeas of noble goare.
But ſay, (ye ENGINEERS of TORMENT, why
Deviſe yee plagues to languiſh us to death?
Could yee not (as*
*Cali gu­la.
* ROMES TYRANT wiſh'd) once tye
Our vaſſald necks to one fierce ſtroake of death?
Though yee becharm'd us to believe our woe
For chiefeſt good, yet when we ſee ye teare
The Limbs from the falne Cedar, we muſt ſhew
The world your falſhoods in our trembling feare;
But vengeance will not ſpare that blaſpemie
Which makes Heaven ſeeme t' approve curſt cruelty.
Can neither cries of Widdows, nor the teares
Of tender Orphans, not the dreadfull groanes
Of three ſad Kingdomes pierce your deafned eares?
Will ye not heare the Priſoners ruefull moanes?
The cries of blood have peirc't the Firmament,
And vengeance ſlumbereth not, ye brands of ire,
TOPHET'S prepar'd of old, not as ye meant
For glorious CHARLES, nor CAPELL, but with fire
Eternally to torture thoſe that ſell
Kings and Peeres bloods to purchaſe Thrones in Hell.
Readers, perchance now ye expect to know
Why we amaze the world with our exclaimes;
And whence thoſe torrents of dire paſſions flow,
That theſe ſad dirge-ſtrains powerfully proclaimes?
Did not the flames of Zeale for our late loſſe
Extract the quint'ſence of all anxious teares?
That ruine quite transform'd our joyes to droſſe,
And this our hopes to agravated feares;
Ruine ſaid I? no, CHARLES and CAPELLS name
Reſts crown'd with glory, but their Foes with ſhame.
He whom we now lament earth equals not, in him
Valour, and Fortitude, feem'd both to place
Their choiſe demenſions in his every Limb,
Which his Zeale manag'd with HEROICK grace;
Prudence but uſher'd his accompliſhments,
And though blinde fortune, him betray'd to th'hate
Of a perfidious enemy, 's in tents
Proclaim'd him Victor in his captive ſtate;
Who in his lateſt exigent of breath,
Conquer'd his murdters in outbraving death.
Nor here expect our griefes ſhould entertaine
Their Worths,
Hamilton and Hol­land.
as th' honor'd loſſe we chiefely waile,
Though with their bloods th' have purified the ſtaine
Of their diſloyalty; true, fleſh is fraile,
Nor therefore ſhall black obloquy cloud or'e
Their redeem'd Honours; but joynt ſuffering ſhall
Write their eternall glory with the goare
That ſtream'd from CAPELL in's HEROICK fall;
Religion, King, Lawes.
For one true Martyr in that * three fold cauſe
May render three brave exits their applauſe.
You whoſe afflicted ſoules doe merrit here
True Crownes of Patience, O remember how
This conſtant preſident did ſtill appeare
Glorious in Tryals, crown'd with glory now;
Let not baſe feare of Tyranny and Rage
Betray your Honours to a laſting ſhame,
Their Tragick Tryumphs but their woes preſage,
Which will increaſe, as your eternall Fame:
Your blood's ſo ſpilt moſt potently invoke
Your Mercies, whilſt REVENGE prepares their ſtroake.
Ceaſe, ceaſe your mournings, ye indulgent ſoules;
Give not occaſion to thoſe inſolent
To tryumph whilſt your paſſions hope controules,
Teares now ſeeme ſtream'd from inward diſcontent
At his eternall happineſſe (the Sunne
Appears moſt radiant ſtill before a ſhowre)
But if your ſorrowes in a full ſtreame runne,
'T may cloud his luſtre, and augment the power
Of petulency, deluge like t' o'reflow
His honours Pillar in their flood of woe.
Reſt, reſt, Renowned Martyr, whilſt we praiſe
Gods power that in thy conſtancy appear'd;
Thy vertues thee a Pyramid ſhall raiſe,
Whil'ſt Tyrants of their ſhadowes are affeard,
Thou who haſt ſacrific'd thy well-ſpent life,
For God and King, with them art crown'd in glory,
May thy bleſt Off-ſpring and thy fruitfull Wife,
Joy to contemplate on thy honour'd ſtory;
And may thy blood, or prove a drench to purge
Thy Murderers mallice, or their ruines urge.


Grace, Valour, Magnanimity,
Zeale, Fortitude, Faith, Loyalty.
Choſe this true HEROE here inſhrin'd,
To be their Champion, he whoſe minde
Vanquiſh'd the power of Tyranny and rage,
Defying death upon's owne tragicke Stage,
And though his Murderers on his ſuffrings fed,
They drunke their bane when's innocency bled.

About this transcription

TextAn elogie, and epitaph, consecrated to the ever sacred memory of that most illustrious, and incomparable monarch, Charles, by the grace of God, of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, late King, &c. Together with an elogy and epitaph upon the truely lamented death of that excellent patterne of perfect magnanimity, virtue, valour, and loyalty, Arthur Lord Capell. With some streames of remembrance issued from the bloods of his noble fellow-sufferers, Duke Hamilton, and Henry Earle of Holland. / By F.H. Philomusus.
AuthorF. H..
Extent Approx. 17 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 8 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
SeriesEarly English books online.
Additional notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. A86488)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 165077)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 85:E554[1])

About the source text

Bibliographic informationAn elogie, and epitaph, consecrated to the ever sacred memory of that most illustrious, and incomparable monarch, Charles, by the grace of God, of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, late King, &c. Together with an elogy and epitaph upon the truely lamented death of that excellent patterne of perfect magnanimity, virtue, valour, and loyalty, Arthur Lord Capell. With some streames of remembrance issued from the bloods of his noble fellow-sufferers, Duke Hamilton, and Henry Earle of Holland. / By F.H. Philomusus. F. H.. [2], 10 p. s.n.],[London? :Printed in the yeare, 1649.. (In verse.) (Place of publication conjectured by Wing.) (Annotation on Thomason copy: "May 7th".) (Reproduction of the original in the British Library.)
  • Charles -- I, -- King of England, 1600-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
  • Capel of Hadham, Arthur Capel, -- Baron, 1610?-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.

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ImprintAnn Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2011-12 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2).
  • DLPS A86488
  • STC Wing H25
  • STC Thomason E554_1
  • STC ESTC R2265
  • EEBO-CITATION 99871807
  • PROQUEST 99871807
  • VID 165077

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