The Worthines of Wales Wherein are more then a thousand seuerall things rehearsed: some set out in prose to the pleasure of the Reader, and with such varietie of verse for the beautifying of the Book, as no doubt shal delight thousands to vnderstand. Which worke is enterlarded with many wonders and right strange matter to consider of: All the which labour and deuice is drawne forth and set out by Thomas Churchyard, to the glorie of God, and honour of his Prince and Countrey |
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Aborgaynies Towne is walled round about, and hath fayre Suburbs also.
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 | The Worthines of Wales |  |
Aborgaynies Towne is walled round about, and hath fayre Suburbs also.
Returne
I must, to my discourse before,
Of Borrow townes, and Castles as they are:
Aborgaynie, behind I kept in store,
Whose Seate and Soyle, with best may well compare.
The Towne somewhat, on steepe and mounting hill,
With Pastor grounds, and Meddowes great at will.
On euery side, huge Mountaines hard and hye,
And some thicke woods, to please the gazers eye.
Of Borrow townes, and Castles as they are:
It stands ouer two little Riuers called Ceybbie and Ceyuennie, of which Ceyuen̄ie, Aborgeuenie tooke the name.
Whose Seate and Soyle, with best may well compare.
The Towne somewhat, on steepe and mounting hill,
With Pastor grounds, and Meddowes great at will.
On euery side, huge Mountaines hard and hye,
And some thicke woods, to please the gazers eye.
The Riuer Oske, along the Uale doth passe,
Right vnderneath, an auncient Bridge of stone:
A goodly worke, when first it reared was,
(And yet the Shiere, can shewe no such a one)
Makes men to knowe, old Buildings were not bare,
And newe things blush, that steps not so in place,
With suretie good, and shewe to step on stage,
To make newe world, to honor former age.
Right vnderneath, an auncient Bridge of stone:
A goodly worke, when first it reared was,
(And yet the Shiere, can shewe no such a one)
Makes men to knowe, old Buildings were not bare,
And newe things blush, that steps not so in place,
With suretie good, and shewe to step on stage,
To make newe world, to honor former age.
For former tyme, built Townes and Castles trim,
Made Bridges braue, and strong for tyme to come:
And our young daies, that doth in glorie swim,
Holds hard in hand, that finger fast may thome.
Looke what tyme past, made gallant fresh and fayre,
Tyme present spoyles, or will not well repayre:
As in this Towne, a stately Castle shoes,
Which loe to ruyne, and wretched wracke it goes.
Made Bridges braue, and strong for tyme to come:
And our young daies, that doth in glorie swim,
Holds hard in hand, that finger fast may thome.
Looke what tyme past, made gallant fresh and fayre,
Tyme present spoyles, or will not well repayre:
As in this Towne, a stately Castle shoes,
Which loe to ruyne, and wretched wracke it goes.
Most goodly Towers, are bare and naked laft,
That cou'red were, with timber and good lead:
These Towers yet stand, as streight as doth a shaft,
The walles whereof, might serue to some good stead.
For sound and thicke, and wondrous high withall,
They are in deede, and likely not to fall:
Would God therefore, the owner of the same,
Did stay them vp, for to encreace his fame.
That cou'red were, with timber and good lead:
These Towers yet stand, as streight as doth a shaft,
The walles whereof, might serue to some good stead.
They are in deede, and likely not to fall:
Would God therefore, the owner of the same,
Did stay them vp, for to encreace his fame.
Who doth delight, to see a goodly Plaine,
Faire Riuers runne, great woods and mountaines hye:
Let him a while, in any Tower remaine,
And he shall see, that may content the eye.
Great ruth to let, so trim a Seate goe downe,
The Countries strength, and beautie of the Towne:
A Lordly place, a princely plot and viewe,
That laughs to scorne, our patched buildings newe.
Faire Riuers runne, great woods and mountaines hye:
Let him a while, in any Tower remaine,
And he shall see, that may content the eye.
Great ruth to let, so trim a Seate goe downe,
The Countries strength, and beautie of the Towne:
A Lordly place, a princely plot and viewe,
That laughs to scorne, our patched buildings newe.
The shell of this, I meane the walles without,
The worthie worke, that is so finely wrought:
The Sellers deepe, and buildings round about,
The firme Freestone, that was so derely bought,
Makes men lament, the losse of such a thing,
That was of late, a house for any King.
Yea who so wayes, the worth of Castle yet,
With heauie mynd, in muse and dump shall sit.
The worthie worke, that is so finely wrought:
The Sellers deepe, and buildings round about,
The firme Freestone, that was so derely bought,
Makes men lament, the losse of such a thing,
That was of late, a house for any King.
Yea who so wayes, the worth of Castle yet,
With heauie mynd, in muse and dump shall sit.
To see so strong, and stately worke decay,
The same disease, hath Oske in Castle wall:
Which on maine Rocke, was builded euery way,
And now Got wot, is readie downe to fall.
A number more, in Monmouth Shiere I finde,
That can not well, abyde a blast of winde:
The losse is theirs, that sees them ouerthrowne,
The gaine were ours, if yet they were our owne.
The same disease, hath Oske in Castle wall:
Which on maine Rocke, was builded euery way,
And now Got wot, is readie downe to fall.
A number more, in Monmouth Shiere I finde,
That can not well, abyde a blast of winde:
The losse is theirs, that sees them ouerthrowne,
The gaine were ours, if yet they were our owne.
Though Castle here, through trackt of tyme is worne,
A Church remaines, that worthie is of note:
Where worthie men, that hath bene nobly borne,
Were layd in Tombe, which els had bene forgot.
And buried cleane, in graue past mynd of man,
As thousans are, forgot since world began:
Whose race was great, and who for want of Tome,
In dust doth dwell, vnknowne till day of Dome.
A Church remaines, that worthie is of note:
Where worthie men, that hath bene nobly borne,
Were layd in Tombe, which els had bene forgot.
As thousans are, forgot since world began:
Whose race was great, and who for want of Tome,
In dust doth dwell, vnknowne till day of Dome.
In Church there lyes a noble Knight,
Enclosde in wall right well:
Crosselegged as it seemes to sight,
(Or as record doth tell)
He was of high and princely blood,
His Armes doth shewe the same:
For thereby may be vnderstood,
He was a man of fame.
A shield of blacke he beares on brest,
A white Crowe plaine thereon:
A ragged sleeue in top and crest,
All wrought in goodly stone.
And vnder feete, a Greyhound lyes,
Three golden Lyons gay,
Nine Flowerdeluces there likewise,
His Armes doth full display.
Enclosde in wall right well:
Crosselegged as it seemes to sight,
(Or as record doth tell)
He was of high and princely blood,
His Armes doth shewe the same:
For thereby may be vnderstood,
He was a man of fame.
A shield of blacke he beares on brest,
A white Crowe plaine thereon:
A ragged sleeue in top and crest,
All wrought in goodly stone.
And vnder feete, a Greyhound lyes,
Three golden Lyons gay,
Nine Flowerdeluces there likewise,
His Armes doth full display.
A Lord that once enioyde that Seate,
Lyes there in sumptuous sort:
They say as loe his race was great,
So auncient men report.
His force was much: for he by strength
With Bull did struggle so,
He broke cleane off his hornes at length,
And therewith let him go.
This Lord a Bull hath vnder feete,
And as it may be thought,
A Dragon vnder head doth lye,
In stone full finely wrought.
The worke and Tombe so auncient is,
(And of the oldest guyse)
My first bare view, full well may mis,
To shewe how well he lyes.
Lyes there in sumptuous sort:
They say as loe his race was great,
So auncient men report.
His force was much: for he by strength
With Bull did struggle so,
He broke cleane off his hornes at length,
And therewith let him go.
This Lord a Bull hath vnder feete,
And as it may be thought,
A Dragon vnder head doth lye,
In stone full finely wrought.
The worke and Tombe so auncient is,
(And of the oldest guyse)
To shewe how well he lyes.
A Tombe in deede, of charge and showe,
Amid the Chappell stands:
Where William Thomas Knight ye knowe,
Lyes long with stretched hands.
A Harbert was he cal'd of right,
Who from great kindred cam,
And married to a worthie wight,
Daughter to Dauie Gam,
(A Knight likewise, of right and name)
This Harbert and his Feere,
Lyes there like one that purchast fame,
As plainly doth appeere.
His Tombe is rich, and rare to viewe,
Well wrought of great deuice:
Though it be old, Tombes made but newe,
Are of no greater price.
His Armes three ramping Lyons white,
Behind his head in shield:
A crowned Lyon blacke is hers,
Set out in most rich field:
Behind her head is likewise there,
Loe what our elders did,
To make those famous euery where,
Whose vertues are not hid.
Amid the Chappell stands:
Where William Thomas Knight ye knowe,
Lyes long with stretched hands.
A Harbert was he cal'd of right,
Who from great kindred cam,
And married to a worthie wight,
Daughter to Dauie Gam,
(A Knight likewise, of right and name)
This Harbert and his Feere,
Lyes there like one that purchast fame,
As plainly doth appeere.
His Tombe is rich, and rare to viewe,
Well wrought of great deuice:
Though it be old, Tombes made but newe,
Are of no greater price.
His Armes three ramping Lyons white,
Behind his head in shield:
A crowned Lyon blacke is hers,
Set out in most rich field:
Behind her head is likewise there,
Loe what our elders did,
To make those famous euery where,
Whose vertues are not hid.
In Tombe as trim as that before,
Sir Richard Harbert lyes:
He was at Banbrie field of yore,
And through the battaile twise:
He past with Pollax in his hands,
A manly act in deede,
To preace among so many bands,
As you of him may reede.
The valiant Knight, at Colbroke dwelt,
Nere Aborgaynie towne:
Who when his fatall destnie felt,
And Fortune flong him downe,
Among his enemies lost his head,
A rufull tale to tell:
Yet buryed was as I haue said,
In sumptuous Tombe full well.
His wife Dame Margret by his side,
Lyes there likewise for troth:
Their Armes as yet may be tryed,
(In honor of them both)
Stands at their heads, three Lyons white
He giues as well he might:
Three Rauens blacke, in shield she giues,
As Daughter to a Knight.
A sheafe of Arrowes vnder head,
He hath as due to him:
Thus there these worthie couple lye,
In Tombe full fine and trim.
Sir Richard Harbert lyes:
He was at Banbrie field of yore,
And through the battaile twise:
He past with Pollax in his hands,
A manly act in deede,
To preace among so many bands,
As you of him may reede.
Nere Aborgaynie towne:
Who when his fatall destnie felt,
And Fortune flong him downe,
Among his enemies lost his head,
A rufull tale to tell:
Yet buryed was as I haue said,
In sumptuous Tombe full well.
His wife Dame Margret by his side,
Lyes there likewise for troth:
Their Armes as yet may be tryed,
(In honor of them both)
Stands at their heads, three Lyons white
He giues as well he might:
Three Rauens blacke, in shield she giues,
As Daughter to a Knight.
A sheafe of Arrowes vnder head,
He hath as due to him:
Thus there these worthie couple lye,
In Tombe full fine and trim.
Now in another passing Tombe,
Of beautie and of charge,
There lyes a Squire (that Harbert hight)
With cost set out at large.
Two Daughters and sixe Sonnes also,
Are there set nobly forth:
With other workes that makes the showe,
And Monument more worth.
Himselfe, his wife, and children to,
Lyes shrouded in that Seate:
Now somewhat for that Squire I do,
Because his race was great.
He was the father of that Earle,
That dyed Lord Steward late,
A man of might, of spreet most rare,
And borne to happie fate.
His father layd so richly here,
So long agoe withall,
Shewes to the lookers on full cleere,
(When this to mynd they call)
This Squire was of an auncient race,
And borne of noble blood:
Sith that he dyed in such a cace,
And left such wordly good,
To make a Tombe so rich and braue:
Nay further now to say,
The three white white Lyons that he gaue
In Armes, doth race bewray:
And makes them blush and hold downe browe,
That babble out of square.
Rest there and to my matter now:
Upon this Tombe there are
Three Lyons and three white Bores heads:
The first three are his owne.
The white Bores heads his wife she gaue,
As well in Wales is knowne.
A Lyon at his feete doth lye,
At head a Dragon greene:
More things who lists to search with eye,
On Tombe may well be seene.
Of beautie and of charge,
There lyes a Squire (that Harbert hight)
With cost set out at large.
Two Daughters and sixe Sonnes also,
Are there set nobly forth:
With other workes that makes the showe,
And Monument more worth.
Himselfe, his wife, and children to,
Lyes shrouded in that Seate:
Now somewhat for that Squire I do,
Because his race was great.
He was the father of that Earle,
That dyed Lord Steward late,
A man of might, of spreet most rare,
His father layd so richly here,
So long agoe withall,
Shewes to the lookers on full cleere,
(When this to mynd they call)
This Squire was of an auncient race,
And borne of noble blood:
Sith that he dyed in such a cace,
And left such wordly good,
To make a Tombe so rich and braue:
Nay further now to say,
The three white white Lyons that he gaue
In Armes, doth race bewray:
And makes them blush and hold downe browe,
That babble out of square.
Rest there and to my matter now:
Upon this Tombe there are
Three Lyons and three white Bores heads:
The first three are his owne.
The white Bores heads his wife she gaue,
As well in Wales is knowne.
A Lyon at his feete doth lye,
At head a Dragon greene:
More things who lists to search with eye,
On Tombe may well be seene.
Amid the Church, Lord Hastings lay,
Lord Aborgaynie than:
And since his death remou'd away,
By fine deuice of man:
And layd within a windowe right,
Full flat on stonie wall:
Where now he doth in open sight,
Remaine to people all.
The windowe is well made and wrought,
A costly worke to see:
In which his noble Armes are thought,
Of purpose there to bee.
A ragged sleeue and sixe red Birds,
Is portrayd in the Glasse:
His wife hath there her left arme bare,
It seemes her sleeue it was
That hangs about his necke full fine,
Right ore a Purple weede:
A robe of that same colour too,
The Ladie weares in deede.
Under his legges a Lyon red,
His Armes are rare and ritch:
A Harrold that could shewe them well,
Can blase not many fitch.
Sixe Lyons white, the ground fayre blew,
Three Flowerdeluces gold:
The ground of them is red of hew,
And goodly to behold.
But note a greater matter now,
Upon his Tombe in stone
Were foreteene Lords that knees did bow,
Unto this Lord alone.
Of this rare worke a porch is made,
The Barrons there remaine
In good old stone, and auncient trade,
To shewe all ages plaine.
What homage was to Hastings due,
What honour he did win:
What Armes he gaue, and so to blaze
What Lord had Hastings bin.
Lord Aborgaynie than:
And since his death remou'd away,
By fine deuice of man:
And layd within a windowe right,
Full flat on stonie wall:
Where now he doth in open sight,
Remaine to people all.
The windowe is well made and wrought,
A costly worke to see:
Of purpose there to bee.
A ragged sleeue and sixe red Birds,
Is portrayd in the Glasse:
His wife hath there her left arme bare,
It seemes her sleeue it was
That hangs about his necke full fine,
Right ore a Purple weede:
A robe of that same colour too,
The Ladie weares in deede.
Under his legges a Lyon red,
His Armes are rare and ritch:
A Harrold that could shewe them well,
Can blase not many fitch.
Sixe Lyons white, the ground fayre blew,
Three Flowerdeluces gold:
The ground of them is red of hew,
And goodly to behold.
But note a greater matter now,
Upon his Tombe in stone
Were foreteene Lords that knees did bow,
Unto this Lord alone.
Of this rare worke a porch is made,
The Barrons there remaine
In good old stone, and auncient trade,
To shewe all ages plaine.
What homage was to Hastings due,
What honour he did win:
What Armes he gaue, and so to blaze
What Lord had Hastings bin.
Right ore against this windowe, loe
In stone a Ladie lyes:
And in her hands a Hart I troe,
She holds before your eyes:
And on her breast, a great fayre shield,
In which she beares no more
But three great Flowerdeluces large:
And euen loe, right ore
Her head another Ladie lyes
With Squirrell on her hand,
And at her feete, in stone likewise,
A couching Hound doth stand:
They say her Squirrell lept away,
And toward it she run:
And as from fall she sought to stay
The little pretie Bun,
Right downe from top of wall she fell,
And tooke her death thereby.
Thus what I heard, I doe you tell,
And what is seene with eye.
In stone a Ladie lyes:
And in her hands a Hart I troe,
She holds before your eyes:
And on her breast, a great fayre shield,
But three great Flowerdeluces large:
And euen loe, right ore
Her head another Ladie lyes
With Squirrell on her hand,
And at her feete, in stone likewise,
A couching Hound doth stand:
They say her Squirrell lept away,
And toward it she run:
And as from fall she sought to stay
The little pretie Bun,
Right downe from top of wall she fell,
And tooke her death thereby.
Thus what I heard, I doe you tell,
And what is seene with eye.
A friend of myne who lately dyed,
That Doctor Lewis hight:
Within that Church his Tombe I spyed,
Well wrought and fayre to sight.
O Lord (quoth I) we all must dye,
No lawe, nor learnings lore:
No iudgement deepe, nor knowledge hye,
No riches lesse or more,
No office, place, nor calling great,
No worldly pompe at all,
Can keepe vs from the mortall threat
Of death, when God doth call.
Sith none of these good gifts on earth,
Haue powre to make vs liue:
And no good fortune from our birth,
No hower of breath can giue.
Thinke not on life and pleasure heere,
They passe like beames of Sunne:
For nought from hence we carrie cleere,
When man his race hath runne.
That Doctor Lewis hight:
Within that Church his Tombe I spyed,
Well wrought and fayre to sight.
O Lord (quoth I) we all must dye,
No lawe, nor learnings lore:
No iudgement deepe, nor knowledge hye,
No riches lesse or more,
No office, place, nor calling great,
No worldly pompe at all,
Can keepe vs from the mortall threat
Of death, when God doth call.
Sith none of these good gifts on earth,
Haue powre to make vs liue:
And no good fortune from our birth,
No hower of breath can giue.
Thinke not on life and pleasure heere,
They passe like beames of Sunne:
For nought from hence we carrie cleere,
When man his race hath runne.
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