An Elegie on the Earl of Essex

How many strange uncertain Fates Attend,
The Wandring Pilgrim to his Journeys End.
Earth turns to Earth, Water, Air, and Fire,
Against the Breath inform'd them, do conspire;
As every Man were his own Fatal Catch,
'Tis in his Hands to forward the Dispatch;
Some in the Field of Venus, some in Mars,
Some meanly Hang themselves, some hang an Arse:
But mighty Essex, his Victorious Arm,
With Griefs Opprest, Receives the Swift Alarm,
A Meaner Foe then Steel, He Scorns to own;
Or Fall by any Hand, but by his Own,
Achitophel may hang Himself, and Oats
With Judas Swing, and some may cut their Throats,
Whom Black Despair, may Urge; But Essex He,
The first that Cut his Throat, for's Loyalty.
Oh! That Despair should 'Tend such Fiery Zeal,
This Mighty Sampson of the Common-weal.
Rais'd to Defend, and set his Israel Free,
From Popish Rage, Philistian Tirrany,
To shake the Pillars of the Church and State,
He Crowns it with his own untimely Fate.
Essex the Famous General, That Name,
So dear Recorded in the Books of Fame,
With Royal Blood, and Fatal Conquests Cloy'd,
Ten Thousand of the Kings best Friends Destroy'd:
But thou'rt the First, and shall Recorded be,
That Rid him of one Secret Enemy:
What fitter Victim, cou'd Great Essex Bring,
T'atone his Crime against an Injur'd King?

But here thy Rage too Desperate appears,
To Dye a Martyr to thy Doubts and Fears.
Oh Dire Revenge! Oh! Too Officious Steel,
To make that Wound, which Time can never heal.
Had'st thou but few Days Courage to with-stand,
Jack Catch had done the Business to thy hand.

But Oh Despair! more desperate then thy Guilt,
That durst not trust thy self to stand the Tilt,
Lest thy false Tongue, shou'd through thy Throat impart,
The Bloody Treasons that opprest thy Heart.

This must convince the World, and thy wrong'd Prince,
Thou with thy Guilt had'st rather hurry Hence,
Then stay to Justifie thy Innocence.