pleasures here possest As did this knight of whom I spake who bore about in brest A noble harte a constant mynde a iollie courage greate A warme good will to common wealth that neuer wanted heate Brought vp in armes and Marciall feats a maister of that arte Whiche oft in feeld and countreis cause did plaie a manly parte As birth was good and noble sure so all he went about Was good and worthie eurie waie and noble still throughout In office oft and by his Prince to credite called still In matters graue and thyngs of weight of deepe foresight and skill No talker of good Fortune won nor boster for vaine bruite A tree that seldome blossomde showd yet brought forth good fruite As calme and milde as Sommer winds that neuer water moues And yet as stout to cruell Rites as gentill with the Doues A bodie apte to beare the brunt of paines and labour long A hedde that could conceiue the beste and sone could put vp wrong A freende that vsde no fained phrase and surely one of those That dealt with parfite plainnesse so he neuer purchaste fose A settled rocke a staied trothe that no deuice could staine A Paulet yea a piller too where Paulet did remaine An aide to sutche as wanted helpe a father free and franke To those that onely for good tourns but barely yeelded thanke What resteth more in any man then was in hym I saie Thus Paulet wan a noble brute and bore the same awaie Where vertue at the dreadfull howre when trompet sounds a loude Emong the cheef and chosen Lambes shall sit in sacred cloude FINIS ¶ Sir VVillyam Courtneis Epitaphe BY death eche life is knowen as darkenesse tries out light By life is man made like the Gods where life is ledde a right Whiles Courtneis life did laste his glorie hid remainde But now he hath sutche rare renowne as fewe or none attainde The worlde setts forthe his fame in sutche a liuely sorte That to the Angells eares aboue is blowen thereof reporte Whiche newes is lickte so well the heauens holde them bleste WheÌ„ God shall bid vnlocke the gates embrace this newe come gest But though the heauens ioye the yearth with teares is filde And kinde hath cause to curse her self that suche a tree hath spilde By sicknesse sent in spight to spoile the spraise and all And made grene leaues forsake their bowes ere fruit wer ripe to fall Me thinke I heare hym saie would God had been my chance To hitte on death in open feeld by chardge of enemies Lance. Lament ye Courtlike Lordes a plaie feere loste you haue Sende forthe some sighes a long the seas to sobb vpon his graue That buried is at Hawne with warlike pompe and shotte Whiche range his knell as is the gise alas to sone God wotte Well worthie goe thy waie how many of thy name Are lefte behinde to tread thy stepps and winne but halfe thy fame How should sutche gifts be graft without some power deuine Sutche vertues dwell in one mans breast as harbred were in thine A Courtney by thy name a Courtier kindly borne A perfite peece not painted out a coine vnclippte or worne One of so right a stampe that streight did currant passe In euery place of his repaire where sondrie golds were glasse His face bewraied at first what hope of hym to haue His works performde that tonge brought forth his hand full largely gaue A hedde that ofte had paste dame Prudens mustere books A countnance as his courage was no forsed Lyons looks A harte storehouse of trothe a minde no ire might moue An eare that watcht for well coucht words a grace that gatt mutche loue His liberall Nature shewed full ofte to eche degree Where bountie wants set birthe a side ye can not noble bee Now better kisse his steppes then at his praise to kicke Well maie men roue about his marke but none shall hit the pricke What mournyng makes his wife that sutche a housbande loste His babes his men his neighbours eke and all the Westerne coste Well geasts your Hoste is gone turne horse an other waie The shrine is robbde the saincte is fled where ye were wont to staie The sacred godds receiue emong them where thei are With as muche mirth as maie be made the sprite y t Courtney bare FINIS Sir VVillyam Pickryngrs Epitaphe MY sences slept in rest the quiet couche I take When worlds reporte with hurlyng brute badde sluggishe muse awake And whett the blunted witts on mournyng matter newe A heauie happe a soddaine chance that thousandes ought to rewe What fortune is befalne in worlde ê™ I of late Is any braunche or member hurte that erst hath serude the state Or is some sproute decaied or tree blowne donne by blast That through mans skill sweate of browes might growe stande ful fast There is ê™ Fame to me a worthie wight gone hence Now dedde ' that late was quicke and ripe of iudgement wit sence And Pickryng was his name whose mynde was sure so greate The noble browes bare witnesse plain where haÌ„mers still did beate A man that credite wonne by seruice sondrie waies A Tully bothe with penne and tong at proofe moste worthie praies And surely from the Gods the rarest gifts posseste That euer in these drousie daies did lodge in one mans breste Looke not I should rehearse what all his vertues weare But looke amid these worldly happs how he hym self did beare When Fortune turude her face he smothly let it slide The want of will at no tyme could in looks nor life be spide If happe had faunde on hym he changde no chere therefore In equall ballance stoode the weight of chaunces lesse or more As wisedome clockte his cares so stoutnesse staied his minde And custome taught hym how to taste the toiles that here we finde In learned Platoes rules good Pickryng pleasure tooke And shonde the worlde to sort hym self with gladsome golden booke Emong a worlde of men in deede fewe freends he chose Yet with a manly modest meane he could reclaime his foes His port and presence sutche he was for Court full fitte And for his graue and deepe foresight he might in councell sitte The life that here he ledde giues still sufficient light For skilfull heads and scannyng minds to wrest his maners right Now hath he that he sought and dwells aboue in blis Where good mens soulls as worlde thei leaue at length shall meete with his When Fame had told her tale I cald for paper streight And in suche verse as here you reade I put these words of weight FINIS Maister Hampdens Epitaphe GOOd life is knowen through deathes despite and when to graue wee goe Good life steppes forthe of shroudyng sheete and doeth our vertues showe The yearth can claime but fleshe and bones and leaue the reste to fame The heauens lookes but for the soule and worlde retaines good name So somwhat man doeth leaue behinde that shines like lanterne clere Note
A grace to winne and purchace freends at vewe and present sight A Toby to his children all yea Iob for happie state A father graue that well bestowd the worldly goods he gate A Iewell to Kilkenie sure when toune besieged was A worthie Burges stoute of harte that could through perills passe Of stature meane of maner milde and sure as I haue hard A verie shadowe of a sainct so shapte in some regard His ende did showe what life he ledd his neighbours doe recorde He was a plant of speciall grace and member of the Lorde Wherefore dere freends y t reads these lines be sure his soule is well And he through Christ doeth triumph still on dreadfull death and hel And sitts as safe in Abrams breast as babe in mothers lappe Moste glad are Adams ofspring all that meets sutche blessed happe FINIS ¶ The Lorde Braies Epitaphe CRie out thou worlde and Court and saie that loste ye haue A better Iewell for his daies then your desarts doe craue But small ye waie the losse of hym and others eke Of whose good nature when ye neede ye are full farre to seeke Whiche maks your plague the more though least ye thinke thereon When ofte ye wishe them here againe that long are dedde and gon As Gold from Lead is knowne sutche diffrence is in deede In men and more vnlike thei are then flowre is vnto weede Lorde Braie declares the same who was so clere a Lampe That fewe or none my iudgement giues are left vs of that stampe So currant for the Court so comely in the felde So right a sparke of Natures moulde hath here been seen but selde His face did full present a manly worthie minde His woords set forthe a further skill then all mens heds could finde His life could none mislike his Nature throughly good His hande more freely gaue awaie then worlde well vnderstood A harte where honour dwelt a corps full trimly knitte A shape as kinde had breath'd hym out a hedde where lackt no witte O Braie thou borest awaie the banner of renowne Let none thinke scorne to followe thee in feeld in court nor toune I take a heauie leaue of thee and so I cease And leaue thee flikeryng in the aire before the God of peace FINIS Sir Ihon Constables Epitaphe IN lookyng through these worldly happs so walkyng where I would And waiyng well with equall paies the weight of yearthly mould I heard a sadd and priuie voice as though some fearfull spreete In hollowe Caue or vaute of stone had spoke from shroudyng sheete It badde me looke to true report that Tymes cheef daughter is And sett a side all fonde affects whiche leads the penne amis Thou hast ê™ he for fauours sake prais'd some thou didst not knowe I was thy freende wherefore in verse my course of life doe showe These woords pronouncst he silence kept and vanisht so awaie His soule to Skies his fame to worlde his corps to clotts of claie Then to my Muse I gan repaire with harte as cold as stone And so with dolefull verse bewaield the death of good sir Ihon. Who ledde his life in greate renowne and neighbours loue with all And seru'd the state on his owne charge when prince did please to call By Northen broils that bred mutche bale and subiects trothes were tried His great good will to dueties bounds loiall faith was spied He alwaies stoode to rightfull thyngs and would not swaie a wrie To any pointe wherein reproche or losse of name did lye A freende that was not lightly loste and did good tournes bestowe Where cause requirde librall hart through bounties springs should flowe A house he kept of greate expence and daiely at his doore With that good store that God him blest he helpt to feede y â— poore He married twise in noble race and kept a noble traine And freely gaue good seruaunts Farms to recompence their paine He bare to freends sutche perfite loue that to the howre of death He neuer failed any one as long as he had breath He had greate suites and troubles too that many sorrows bryngs Yet ere he died with worship greate he ended all those thyngs He gaue good lands for Scholers weale as was the auncient gies And made an Almes house for the poore in Halsham where he lyes All Holdernesse that knewe hym well doeth misse his presence now So iuste and worthie eurie waie were all his doyngs throw But when the fruite of tree is ripe or men be at the beste Doune doe thei drop at the length in yearth with worms thei rest Yet good mens ghosts do clime the clouds drawes where God in trone Brings chosen lambs to endlesse ioy froÌ„ worldly care mone FINIS The phantasticall Monarkes Epitaphe THough Daâ—t be dedde and Marrot lies in graue And Petrarks sprite bee mounted past our vewe Yet some doe liue that Poets humours haue To keepe old course with vains of verses newe Whose penns are prest to paint out people plaine That els a sleepe in silence should remaine Come poore old man that boare the Monarks name Thyne Epitaphe shall here set forthe thy fame Thy climyng mynde aspierd beyonde the Starrs Thy loftie stile no yearthly titell bore Thy witts would seem to see through peace and warrs Thy tauntyng tong was pleasant sharpe and sore And though thy Pride and pompe was somewhat vaine The Monarcke had a deepe discoursyng braine A lone with freend he could of wonders treate In publike place pronounce a sentence greate No matche for fooles if wisemen were in place No mate at meale to sit with common sort Bothe graue of looks and fatherlike of face Of Iudgement quicke of comely forme and port Moste bent to words on hye and solempne daies Of diet fine and daintie diuerse waies And well disposde if Prince did pleasure take At any mirthe that he poore man could make On gallant robes his greatest glorie stood Yet garments bare could neuer daunt his minde He feard no state nor â—aerd for worldly good Helde eche thyng light as fethers in the winde And still he saied the strong thursts weake to wall When sworde bore swaie the Monarke should haue all The man of might at length shall Monarke bee And greatest strength shall make the feeble flee When straungers came in presence any wheare Straunge was the talke the Monarke vttred than He had a voice could thonder through your eare And speake mutche like a merrie Christmas man But sure small mirthe his matter harped on His forme of life who lists to looke vpon Did shewe some witte though follie fedde his will The man is dedde yet Monarke liueth still FINIS Epitaphes alreadie printed or out of my handes THe Epitaphe of Kyng Henry the eight 1 The Erle of Surries Epitaphe 2 The Lorde Cromwells Epitaphe 3 The Ladie Wentworthes Epitaphe 4 The Lorde Graies of Wilt on his Epitaphe 5 The Lorde Poinynges Epitaphe 6 Maister Audleis the greate Soldiours Epitaphe 7 The worthie
and talke together still When distance of the tyme and place denies them of their will When furthest of thei seeme thei ioyne in ioye and blis And eurie smart that absence breeds a present pleasure is The fraude and finesse now and tickle trothe in man Maks faithe and freendship thrise as sweete as when it first began In these dessemblyng daies who findes a freende I trowe Hath founde a seconde Phenix sure and needes no further goe Shrine vp that sainct in golde locke vp that Iewell riche Ye cannot in no measures meane of freendship make too mitche FINIS A warnyng from Courte LOoke not for deedes when wordes driu's of the tyme Thei reape but weedes that sowes on barraine grounde Trust not to age when youth is paste his prime Showe not plaine face where finenesse doeth abounde Hope not for grace where Flattrie faunes like whelpe But haunt the place where hope hath readie helpe Spende little wealthe where witte and tyme is loste Creepe from colde Court where freendshipps fire goes out Matche not with Pride nor leane to painted poste Seeke rather Death then liue in daiely doubt Where Enuie liu's and Loue is tournde to luste Good minds doe dye and worlde is not to truste The Sirens song deceiu's the simple eare The hissyng Snake giu's warnyng eare he styng Greate pitts are hid in water smothe and feare The hollowe bell doeth make the sweetest ryng Thus daunger dwells where least the doubt appeers And pleasant feelds doe yeeld moste scratchyng Breers The plainest folke are in the roughest soile The subtlest hedds to golden hâ—ules repaire Who shuns gaie showes shall scape from Fortunes foile Foule weather hangs in Cloudie smilyng aire I can no more but bidde the wise beware Of gallant Court that weares vaine glorie bare FINIS Of a Courtiers life and how the worst sorte findes beste Furtune THis parshall worlde prefarres the fained face And beates hym backe that beares the blotlesse browe As one might saie thei stande in Fortunes grace That worst deseru's and best can flatter now He reaps no Corne that helps to holde the Plowe His gaine is small that labours till he grones He bears the loade that hath the weakest bones The wiely hedde hath witte to watche his howres Like Foxe and Wolfe that seru's them selu's you see The idell hands that neuer planted flowres Takes Honie sweete from sillie labryng Bee Though Fauken faire for Ducke or Partrige flee He feedes on Beefe or other baser meate Thus are thei seru'd that oft doe toile and sweate Some rouns full swift yet still the wager loes Men haue sutche sleight to tripp their fellowes doune We knowe not how the wheele of Fortune goes Nor wherein rests our wealth or right renowne The tromp of Fame giu's sutche vncertaine sowne That badd are good and good haue but badd lucke In happie thyngs or gaine of worldly mucke Next walkyng Iaads and whipyng horses heeles Is Soldiours craft and waityng Courtiers trade The one in feeld bothe cold and honger feeles The other here at home a drudge is made Well all is one to sitt in Sonne or shade If happ giue all no matter who doeth sowe He reaps moste Corne whose Sieth shall furthest goe FINIS Of woordes spoken by a greate personage I Liue that dieth eurie howre my glasse is nere hande roime I fall awaie as doeth a flowre that withers in the Sonne O death dispatche my dolefull daies defar no tyme here in Good Lachis make thou no delaies my fatal threde to spin Thou Clarke I saie that for thy fee doeth ryng the carefull knell Now let me haue some helpe of thee to tolle my passyng bell If by the waie I maie prouoke to shorten now my life This hande of myne shall strike the stroke y t sone shall stint my strife I muse why God did me create and breathd life in my breste And brought me vp to this estate that nere enioyed no reste Why was I fed with milke so oft and pampred vp so long Why was I rockt and laied so softe and lullde with many a song Why was not I vntymely borne when Nature had me wrought That liueth thus as man forlorne and still consumes with thought The Midwife might haue cas'd all this if strangled had I bin Then had my soule been saffe in blis that now lyes dround in sin But looke what God assignde is doen what should I reason more O Lorde my God what hast thou won in plagyng me so sore What honour canst thou haue by me what glorie canst thou haue What seruice can I doe to thee that wisheth thus my graue And in this plite to dye thou knowest so farre from quiet frame Before I should yeeld vp the ghost I might blaspheme thy name The worlde disdains to see my wealth the heauens on me froune The yearth and aire denies me health and Fortune keeps me doune The daie I driue awaie with care the might I waile and weepe The sighes sobs that comes vnware doeth wake me in my slepe The foode that should my life sustaine I finde therein small taste My blood dries vp in eurie vaine loe how I weare and waste Thus eurie thing doeth change his kinde to worke my woe you see And nothyng seru's me to my minde I fall in sutche degree Would God my graue were ready found my shroudyng shete al And dreadfull Death were surely bounde to come when I doe call Finis ¶ A description of Desire LEd by Desire a thrall where fréedome lyes Helde backe by witte when fancie forward hales My greedie will begiles my gasyng eyes Calde home from craft yet caught in cunnyng stales Drawne from my self and made to others call If daunger come Desire is cause of all Prepard for flight my wings are faste in Lyme I swimme in hope and sincke with deepe consaite Deceiu'd by happ yet learnd by losse of tyme To knowe the hooke and yet must misse the baite But bound and ledde a long by swéete Desire I scorche or burne before I féele the fire Desire lackes sight yet leades the sences blinde And wilfull Will waites hard at Daungers héeles Good spéede full leane comes laggyng farre behinde Close harte saies nought that all the sorrowe féeles So thus the man to Death like captiue goes Ledde by Desire that knowes not freends from foes Our life declares Desire can take no reste In soundest sléepes it keepes the minde awake It is a sprite that closely créepes in breste A priuie thought that Warres and Peace doeth make And whom it leads it either throwes hym doune Or liftes hym vp by happ to greate renowne The Soldiour builds his hope on greate Desire The Marchant getts his gaine and wealth thereby The trauelyng wight it paies with noble 〈◊〉 It heales the harte that in Dispaire doeth lye And though some sparks of vice flee from that flame A good Desire maintaines a vertuous name Then blushe I not to yeelde where force doeth faile Desire doeth daunt the strong
on the schoole That learnyng leanes vnto a rotten bowe And Science walks but like a ridyng foole Yea tong and penne are bothe to weake a toole To woorke for gaine in greedie worlde God knowes Where Fortunes flood to needlesse riuer goes Some drinkes their fill yet mak's the worlde beleue Well hedde is drie where water freely glides When poore men weepe sutche laugh within their sleue And smothly looke yet wisely watche their tides In brimmest stormes their Barks at Anker rides When fire would burne so snatche the coales awaie If fauour were in triall as it seems The noble Court a lone were Churchardes staie The fountaine hedde where bubblyng springs do plaie Is fittest place for tree but newly cropt If Cocke would ronne and Conduit were not stopt Who stands belowe and looks till Apples fall And hopes to eate that others shaketh doune Is like to catche a shadowe from a wall Or watche a ball that neuer giu's reboune Constrainde to crie to her that wears the croune I waite myne howre or foerst to parte the lande Thus helplesse man seek's helpe at Caesars hande FINIS ¶ The louers of the worlde I See their sleights and secrete science That sues to serue and are out caste I see those Dames that drawes the lines That shutts the netts when fishe are fast I see some stande and craue a looke Like eager haukes that watche their praie For want of baite thei bite the hooke Like louyng wormes thei spende the daie I see some smile that makes men smart Whiche liu's vnlearnde in louers lawes Yet with their witts and wilie arte With fondlyngs foode thei feede the Dawes Light triflyng toies will children please As well as gold or presious stones The faunyng whelpps thinkes them at ease When fleshe is gone to gnawe the bones I see thee still and quiet sorte When sutche as I the sturdie tempest tries And yeelds to shocks as swellyng surges ries More bold then wise to trouble Casars cares With bare deuise and deawe of barraine braine But dangers doubt and dread of further feares Bids homely gest be bolde and plie the maine Through hazardes greate a gobb of gold we gaine The Dice must ronne and sutche as light on lucke Maie liue from lacke and weald this worldly mucke The Marchant thriu's through ventring ship and goods If vessell scape a flawe or Pirats sleight The Soldiours gaine their fame by manly moods And winns the feeld where coward dare not feight The suter maie not sleepe in things of weight But watche and speake and venter boldly throwe Thei come by fruite that clims the highest bowe Blinde Deastnie deals the dole when all is done Toile reaps but teares and trothe hath emptie hande In vaine the wise about the worlde doeth roune For staie of state that doeth in Destnie stande The haplesse then doeth builde his house on sande No penne preuailes no seruice winns reward Till labours long by Fortune be prefard Where Ladders lacke in vaine the clouds he climes No connyng helpes nor courage can doe good At Cannon mouthe then laye doune idell Rimes And win the reste by death and losse of blood Where seas are drie in vaine we fishe the modd Where neither suite nor seruice getteth grace Flie from the foile and giue fonde Fortune place It maie be so amid the moste extreemes Whiche sitts and marks these ianglyng Iayes Yet findeth game and goodly sport To see sutche birds caught in the spraies I see them laugh when louers lowre There doettyng tyme hath taught them witte Who knowes what meanes bothe sweete and sowre Will flie the force of fancies fitte I see some sheepe but yet no fooles Whiche vse to roome emong the rout Yea skilfull scholers of the schooles For thei can chuse the fairest out The Hunter knowes the fattest Deare Amid the heard where game doeth ronne These men likewise as doeth appeare Emong the Starrs findes out the Sonne I see how crafte can cloke his care And paint his plaints in paper plaine As Marchants doe set forthe their ware And lye full loude for little gaine I see how trothe would tell his taile And through he goes emong the swarme I see how beutie makes a stale To take yong frie that thinks no harme Mutche more is seen that scapes myne eyes An Argoes were full rare to finde This is a glasse to showe the wise That wilfull loue is euer blinde It thinks it doeth it self so shroude That none can see his trade nor trace How should he walke with in a cloude When loue is written in his face Finis ¶ Of a noble mynde THe noble minde that scornes to stoupe at base and wretched things As quicke as thought mountes vp the Skies with swifte aspiryng wings Not lookyng doune to dedde delits that drounds the witts in drosse And carries weake and simple brains about with mucke and mosse But bearyng harte and hedde so hie as iudgement well maie goe The hautie sprit climes through the clouds leau's vain world beloe I meane the manly courage greate that stoutly striues for state Disdains the doltishe donghill Kites and flies the Fancons greate And commyng once to mountain topp from whence men se the vale A loft it keepes like gallant Barke that hath a bouncyng gale Then clap on cloutes and sea roume seeke adue the doubtfull shore In shallowe streame or riuers small we harbour ship no more To loftie seas whose wawes do worke with eche small wind y t bloes Set course and Barke that Pilotes sage maie se how fortune goes The minde is base that diggs and delues where Deastnie scorns to dwel In highest soiles are heauēs sought on earth is nought but hel Who holds doune hed hangs the groine a cowards hart he bears He dares not looke on shinyng Sonne that eury shadowe fears His combe is cutte his courage gon that droupes or takes disgrace The medson for a greate mischaunce is merrie chearfull face The swetest nutts and fairest fruites from topps of trees we take On highest rocks or stately bowes gaie birds their neasts thei make And nere the ground tame dawes do breed simple doues you finde The carrain Crowe flies here beloe when hauke doeth soer y e winde Wherefore let noble mindes alone their course doeth passe our skill Their harts are fild with pleasant hops that feeds their fancies still FINIS ¶ Of doubtfull hope HIs hope is harde that seeks for fire from froste And feeds on flames of eager fancie still And sowes in hope and reapes but labour loste And wisheth mutche and wastes with want of will Whose mountyng mynde builds castles in the aire And heauie harte lyes drounde in deepe dispaire O restlesse race that like the howre glasse ronns With grains of gréef and so beginns againe O fearfull Fate that all good Fortune shunns Oh torment straunge that hath no ende of paine O dreerie life that death disires in deede Whose twined state vntwistes like feeble threede FINIS Of the flantyng worlde THis worlde is
for pleasure and delite and dedicated where I desire my duetifull good will maie be embraced The matters I treate of are written of sutche sondrie humours and subiectes that thei are more to be redd for the varietie of woordes then for the goodnesse of the verses and the cause why and wherefore I dedicate sutche a matter to your Lordship is for that I would be sorie that my daies and yeres should bee spent with the losse of tyme and that my labour and studie well ment should be forgotten and caste in a corner for waÌ„t of the printing The strange motions and maner of the writyng showes nothyng but the nature of mans fansies that neuer continueth in one kinds of consait The occasions of so many seuerall discourses rose but on the innumerable deuises of the hed that euer in one pointe or other by imagination is occupied And the whole somme and substance of that whiche is written is but to publish to the worlde that ill is better to be meanely exercised in honest pastymes then basely bent and giuen to barraine slothe and Idelnesse Thus trustyng your good Lordship will take in good part a part of the portion that from the heauens is giuen me I presente vnto your handes this newe yere some of mine old labors studies Printed al bound in one newe volume for sutche as pleases to buye them And so as beste becommeth me and duetie commaundes I remaine a well willer to your honour duryng my life moste willyngly at commaundemente Thomas Churchyard Churchyardes Chance My Ladie of Lennoyes graces Epitaphe YOU noble dames of greatest birth whose fame to clouds would flye On this cold cors with warme good will bowe doune your iudgyng eye To see how fleshe and blood must fall to dust when race is ronne And worldly brute and honours blaste shall ende where it begonne If stately name or high renowne might make her bodie liue Or Princes blood to life and breath might here a patente giue This Ladie had not tasted death nor felte in sondrie thyngs Suche crossyng chance and froward fate as to her graue she brings Was neuer wight with troubles toste so sore and past them soe For in her breast from tender yeres a gulffe of greef did floe Scan that whiche best can skill of woe her sorrowes were so greate That when I waie a dram thereof my face and browes doe sweate But though she founde her fortune harde a staied mynde she bore A worthie hedde where sober witte by heapes laie hid in store Her gesture shewd from whence she came her words moste graue wyes And honours beame like burnyng Lampe did blase amid her eyes A presence that could freends coÌ„maunde and hold her foes full mute A noble harte where bounties budds did blome and beare good frute What needs more words to proue a trothe so rare her vertues were That who presumes to hit them right maie misse the marke I fere As you that mourne are cladde with blacke in white her soule doeth shine Transformd froÌ„ fleshe to angels kinde or sacred shape deuine Where fortunes threate caÌ„ doe no harme nor worldly foile she fears And eche good ghost in glorie greate doeth make an ende of tears Her life my gaine her death my losse her fauour helpt my state Her laste farewell leaues freends behinde to waile the losse too late FINIS ¶ An Epitaphe of sir Nicholas Bacon Knight late Lorde Keeper THE lodestarre that good Pilotts likt crept vnder cloude of late A suddaine storme hath knapt in twoo a staffe of publicke sâ—ate Out of our goodlie golden Ryng is falne a precious stone The lande that sutche a Iewell lacks hath cause to morne and mone The babes that seeth their parents dye of duetie sheds some teares But when a Pillar falleth doune that countries burthen beares The common wealth doeth bide a shocke and ioynts in sonder shake If not in steade of auncient propp a newe defence we make A father to all forward witts who fostred lawe and right A Sunne that shone through highest clouds yet gaue belowe greate light Who will not waile that knowes the want well Englande sutche a glas Shall seldome shine in thee againe as worthie Bacon was A flood of sence and sugred sappe came flowyng from his braine Ne Tulles toung nor Petracks penne nor stoute wise Catoes vaine Maie not surmount the philed phrase and reche of Bacons hedd His voice was smothe as Organe pipe and looke what Bacon sedd Was held for Lawe iudgement greate the sentence was so swete The words were of so deepe a fetche and sprong from suche a sprete He spent no speeche nor words in waste and where his promes past Performance hasted out of hande and followd on as faste To God to Prince and Iustice rules a greate regard he tooke Not on the man but on the cause and matter would he looke Disposde and bente to doe muche good but namely vnto those To whom dame vertues learned lore did gifts of grace disclose His countries care cutts of his daies and brings theÌ„ dim dark night That wisely cannot waye the weight and worth of sutche a wight He liues in laude and lanterne like he lastes with blasyng fame We die world weares out our praise where shines his noble name Moste noble are those burnyng lampes moste clerest light thei shoe That leaues a torche which giues vs light wheÌ„ heÌ„ce froÌ„ vs thei goe FINIS ¶ Sir Hugh Pauletts Epitaphe NO verse a vailes ne teares maie serue to waile the want at full My witts are weake my words but bare my penne but base and dull To frame in forme and stately stile the lines I ought to write I finde my muse orecome with cares my reason banishe quite My hedde so fraught with cold conceits of newes I knowe full well That I had rather crie and rore and shrillie houle and yell Then treate of dreadfull deaths despite who daiely doeth deuoure The noblest fruits of Natures mould and pluckes the purest flowre Death neither looks on mens renowne nor who maie best be spard But like a Theef stealls life awaie and striks without regard Not takyng those that vertue wants and fills the worlde with vice But snapps vp suche that people praise worlde holds moste in price As loe of late to well was seen when Paulet left his life Forsooke his freends desired the graue and went from worthy wife To liue and lodge in loftie Skies where blessed angells are And good mens souls doe suretie finde and rest from worldly care No maruell though our troubled sprits doe make a swete exchange And leaues this sowre and bitter soile and will some couÌ„trie straÌ„ge To goe where Gods in glorie sitts and where our home must bee Yet in my mynde suche partyng is a wonder greate to see When men by toile and labour long haue purchast suche a praise Attainde to wealth and honour bothe through seruice sondrie waies And on the suddaine leaue these pomps and
well the same ye mourners all that stands about this bere And doe but liue as Hampden did and get that garlande gaie And liuell but on that posey sweete that Hampden boare awaie What liuyng man can make reporte he harmde hym any where So vpright was the harte in breast that Hampdon still did beare His harte was iuste his hands were franke his words were meeke milde A presence that declarde his minde was harmlesse as a child A gladsome countenance would he shewe when sorowe searcht hym throwe Though Fortune frounde she could not chaunge his cherefull merie browe A pleasant freende cleane voide of fraude bothe honest true and wise In court so loude that now the teares ronnes gushing froÌ„ their eyes When thei but speake of Hampdens name an offcer liked so well Shall neuer sure from countrey come in Court againe to dwell O happie is that Prince that hath sutche seruantes at the neede And blessed is that lande and soile that doeth sutche subiects breede Thrise happie is the wife I trowe that sutche a housbande findes And perfect honest is that man that Hampdens vertue mindes Good birthe and auncient blood doeth breede in noble nature still Good maners good life withall whiche wins the worlds good will So Hampdens waies did well declare from whence began his race And told what marke he thought to hit when death bid life giue place Well freend the Goddes hath graunted thee that thou hast sought so long A croune of glorie for thy life or els thei doe thee wrong Here we be lefte in wicked worlde and finde but fewe like thee Wherefore my sprite through clouldie skies would after Hampdon flee Though thou hast ronne thy race before I followe on full faste And hope aboue in Abrahams breast our soules shall meete at laste FINIS ¶ My Ladie Baggnalles Epitaphe who died at the Nuerie LOe here a ladie lies whose life greate glory won A mornyng Starre a Lampe of daie that shone as bright as Sonne A goodly glasse of Steele that scornde to take a staine A Mirrour that did liuely showe a perfecte picture plaine An aide to straungers still that staide within her gates As noble a Nourse to neighbours all as freendly to estates A spryng of larges streams a well of wifely waies A vertuous dame that vice subdued a pearle of peerlesse praies A fountaine full of faithe her plaiefeere founde the same In eurie pointe that did adorne a comely sober dame From natiue soile she brought faire lands and freends greate store And matcht w t Niclas Baggnall knight to whoÌ„ faire babes she bore O Nuerie thou wast once of this sweete sainct the shrine And now the soile of sighes and sobbs and wofull weepyng eyne For thou hast lately loste by lothsome Deaths disgrace The Lanterne gaie and louyng Lampe that beautified that place Harke worlde how Fame reports and Ecco doeth resounde The hidden heaps of heauenly gifts that did in her abounde A happie houswife knowne the ioye of housbands breast A wise and worthie warrant bothe to chere eche honest geast And as she did present dame Beautie throughly still So nothyng might compare to reache beyond her franke good will To poore a present helpe to ritche her house was free A foe to none her nature sutche she honoured eche degree Belou'd of greate and small as one were blest from bitthe No hurder vp of heauie baggs the drousie drosse of yearth But made her treasure house in clouds and heauens hye Where soulls doe hugg and sprits of men in Abrams brest doeth lye Yea all on yearth she did was doen to that intent And sure no soner lefte she life but thether straight she went So now I leaue her there escapt from worldly blaste Whiles of her fame all Irelande ryngs and shall whites world doth laste Finis ¶ An Epitaphe of one maistres Blunt The Ladie Pauletts sister YOU worthie wiues that vertue seeks and blotlesse liues doe lead With bitter tears be dewe your cheeks when you these verses read And looke you mourne as matrons doe whose modest maners maie By outward woe and heauie lookes their hidden harms be wraie Blacke gounes blasyng torches bigg doeth bryng her to the graue To whom the Gods when she had life greate gifts of glorie gaue Her housbande houlls and wryngs his hands as after corse he goes And neibours loue bursts out in sighes worlde suche sorowe shoes As cropp and roote of woman kinde were loste and laied full loe A gracious life is geste and known when hence the ghost doeth goe Then Blount bedeckt with blessed brute passe on to heauens hie And leaue thy freends and children all behinde to waile and crie The losse of sutche a Iewell rare more ritche then pearle or gold More meete to dwell in breast of man then lodge in ashes cold Unfitt for worme O wifely dame the worlde hath seldome bredd A wife of sutche a worthie fame and suche a noble hedde As meeke as Lambe of looks or woords of councell ripe and sounde Of harte moste milde where humble thoughts bountie did abound A Nourse of Nurture eurie waie to child and houshold bothe A Mirrour to the simple sort and fountaine full of trothe The housbandes ioye the freends delite the neighbours comfort too A willyng minde and readie hande when she good turne might doo That feels she now where angells syng and good mens souls do rest And where we cease from worldly toile I meane in Abrams brest Where loe I leaue her till we meete full faste our date drawes on And we the self same stepps must tread that she before hath gon Finis ¶ Maister VValter Archer his Epitaphe an auncient Borgis of Kilkenie IN beaten Brasse or grauen Gold a good mans Fame should shine Or written faire with lukewarme blood I wishe were eurie line Of mans renowne for sure to base is ynke and paper here Or all our arte and skill of penne to paint their praises clere That well deseru'd whose worthie liues did showe there was small odds Betwene the doyngs of the iuste and maner of the godds Greate is the grace of them that gaze on high with staied looke And â—ars not so their honest names be written in the booke Of life good Lorde yea threfolde blest are those that liues vpright And holds their heads to heauen gates with deepe and secret sight Then preace in place good Archer now thy blotlesse life is sutche No verse hath grace nor stile maie reche to giue thee laude to mutche Thy couÌ„trie rings of thy great praise thy waies were found so wise That from the graue vnto the clouds thy ripe renowne doeth rise Moste cleane and vpright thoughts did dwell amid thy manly minde Of tried trothe thy soile throughout did all thy doyngs finde Bothe Solon and Lycurgus lawes thy Ciuill maner shoes Eche worde of thine a sentence was like stood that freashly floes A welle of witte sprong from thy hedde a tong of temprance right
nodd or becke a worlde maie ouerthrowe And still my staiyng staffe did stande by one alone Whose gentill harte is now become as hard as Marble stone To me the cace is sutche the mischeef so is mine When I am worne vnto the bones he letts me starue and pine And letts me sinck or swim or shift by sleight of braine As though my hedde so game some were to set on eury maine Thus freendship feble growes and men can causlesse change And will this daie familiar be and waxe to morne full strange I will goe fishe for Fate through floods and salt sea fome And rather dye on wretched rocks then perishe here at home Emong my chefest freends amid my natiue soile Where neuer earst in any point I suffred blot or foile Where all the worlde maie see I suckt vp many a wrong Where well awaie the ritche maie thinke a poore man liu's to long Where let my truthe be tried I clame no small reward And where if fortune doe me right the prince ought me regard FINIS Verses that were giuen to the Quenes maiestie AS Thonder cracks with horlyng noies ronns ratlyng through the Skies For feare whereof greate flocks of Sheepe to Folde or couert flies Or as the dreadfull Iudges voice of life sharpe sentence giu's And causeth captiu's quake for feare that vnder mercie liu's So hearyng from your highnesse mouth a worde of woÌ„ders weight Like hound I clapped doune my eares coutcht in kenell streight And droupyng in this worlds disdain that drounds eche good desart I suckt vp sighes as sorrowe shapt to breake a blistred harte Yet gripyng greef in gronyng brest bred no sutche swellyng sore But salue of sweete contented minde had healed long before Though nere the dongeon of dispaire in darcknesse did I dwell And Caron came with carefull boate to rowe me doune to hell I held my hands to heauen hye where hope and helpe is had And so apeald to hym aboue that heauie minds maie glad Feare not ê™ he of froward Fate that fast on people fauls Nor shon not for a cottage poore the princely golden hauls In Court thou shalt thy credite seeke for she who scepter beares Shall showe thee fauour when I list and looke vpon thy teares Her iudgement tries the gold froÌ„ drosse where doeth vertues bud She frankly speaks and frely giu's and flings forthe worldly good When he that rules the hartes of kyngs had told this tale to me To court I came for cause well knowne and knelyng on my kne At closet dore where Prince doeth passe to praier mildly than I found by words and gracious lookes I was a happie man O blessed be that cherefull browe where Phebus beams did shine And euerlastyng light remaine amid those blessed eyne That like the starrs or Lampe of daie that blaseth broad in Skies Doeth driue darke clouds night awaie wheÌ„ blostryng blasts arise And as there burns greate gifts of grace in her like candle clere So God vphold her blessed face emong vs many a yere Finis ¶ A rebuke to vaine louers WHy art thou bounde that maiest bee free Shall reason yeeld to ragyng will Is thraldome like to libertee Wilt thou exchange the good for ill Then must thou learne a childishe plaie And of eche smart to taste and proue When lookers on shall iudge and saie Loe this is he that â—â—u's by loue Thy witts with thought shall stande at staies Thyne hedde shall haue but heauie rest Thyne eyes shall watche for wanton waies Thy tongue shall showe thy harts request Thyne ears shall heare a thousande naies Thyne hande shall put thy penne to paine But in the ende thou shalt dispraise Thy life so spent for sutche small gaine First cast the care and count the coste And waie what fraude in loue is founde Then after come and make thy boste And showe some cause why thou art bounde When that the wine hath ronne full lowe Thou shalt be glad to drinke the lyes And basse the fleshe full oft I knowe That hath been blowne with many flyes If loue and luste might neuer cope And youth might ronne in measures race Or if long suite might winne sure hope I would lesse blame a louers cace But loue is greate with hotte desire And sweete delite maks youth so fonde That little sparks doe proue greate fire And bryngs free harts to endlesse bonde We se where greate deuotion is The people creepe and kisse the crosse Wherefore I finde lesse faute with this Though fondlyngs gilde a bridells bosse The foole his bable will not change Not for the scepter of a kyng A louers life is nothyng strange For yong men seeks no other thyng FINIS ¶ Of fained frendshippe IN fréends are found a heape of doubts that double dealyng vse A swarme of sutche I could finde out whose crafte I could accuse A face for loue a harte for hate those faunyng freends can beare A tong for trothe a hedde for whiles to fraude the simple eare In humble port is poison packt that plainnesse can not spie Who credits all and can not se where stingyng serpents lye With hastie trust the harmelesse harte is easily hampred in And made beleue it is good Gold that is but Lead and Tin The first deceipt that blears our eyes is fained faithe profest The second trap is gratyng talke that gropes eche strangers brest The third deuice is greetyng words with collours stretched out Whiche bids suspect to feare no snares nor dread no dangers doubt The last and worst is long repaire that crepes in frendshipps lappe And daiely haunt that vnder trust deuiseth many a trappe Loe how false frends can frame a fetche to win their wills w t wiles And sause their sleights with sugred sopps shadoe hurt w t smiles To sarue their lusts are sondrie sorts that practise diuerse kinds Some carry Honie in their mouths venome in their minds Thus where that custome â—ouâ—leth men in vice and foule abuse No feare of God nor losse of name there maners maie reduce Me thinke the stones within the streete should crie out at this cace And eury one that should them meete should shon their double face FINIS ¶ Verses that weare giuen to a moste mightie personage O Pearlesse Prince if penne had purchast praise My parte was plaied long since on publike stage Sith Leaden worlde disdaines the golden daies With face of Brasse men must go through this age Though Poetts prate like Parret in a cage Poore Tom maie sitte like Crowe vpon a stone And cracke harde Nutts for Almonds sure are gone A Figge for verse and filed gallant stiles Whose romblyng noyes but thonders in the aire For pleasant wordes procures but scorns and smiles Or clokes colde showres in calmie weather faire My spised termes are dround in deepe despaire Yong witts hath ronne old Churchyard out of breath And babblyng bookes hath ridden Rime to death Bothe Prose and Rime doeth goe a beggyng now And Finenesse fraes so sauours