A reuyuing of the deade by verses that foloweth Which makes worthy men knowen, by the examples of King Henry the eight: King Edward the sixt: Sir Walter Mildmay: the last Erle of Warwick: and Sir Christofer Hatton, lately L. Chaunceller of England. With a declaration of the names of all the most honourable Counsellers, that haue dyed since the beginning of the Queens Maiesties raigne [by Thomas Churchyard] |
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 | A reuyuing of the deade by verses that foloweth |  |
The Epitaph of the most Triumphant King, King Henry the eight.
The flower whose smell is past, lyes dead like withered weed:the blosom burnt with scorchig blast, yeelds nether sent nor seed
The Sunnie day declin'd, lookes like dimme darksome night:
Cleere clowds o're cast with blustring wind, soon loseth former light.
The tree that axe hewes downe, lies flat where bowes do fall:
And greater things of more renown, are scarce thought of at all.
When their decay drawes on, bid rotten frute a dew:
When olde delights are dead and gone, world welcomes fancies new.
Olde Kinges whose glory shone, as bright as Phœbus face:
Lyes lowe in Windsor now alone, with no great Princely grace.
To write of Henryes raigne, a true discourse to tell:
A world of wit it would containe, and please the readers well.
For such a King as he, (though heer bewail'd with pen)
Ought still of dutie honourd be, among all English men.
His loue to Countryes soyle, (like-Father to his sonne)
Kept all true subiects free from foile, how ere worlds course did run.
His woord no sooner past, but at a becke obayd:
He stood like Fortfull firme and fast, and made his foes affraid.
His bountie did abound, his largesse had no end:
Gaue freely where desartes he found, yet had inough to spend.
A flowing Fountaine head, that ran faire streames of golde:
To euery place (through pypes of lead) and Conduits treble-folde.
But cheefely to those men, whose seruice crau'de reward:
There sprouting springs gusht now & then, great grace with great regard.
A glorie great he took, in giuing golde as drosse:
As one that still for fame did look, disdaining mucke and mosse.
A Lyon in the feild, that made wilde tygers tame:
And many a woorthie Towne to yeeld, so fearfull was his name.
A King that made Kings stoop, and held them all in awe:
When he him selfe did neuer droop, for anything he saw.
A King that took no wrong, of none in deed nor word:
But would haue right ere it were long, or trye the same with sword.
The Emperour Charles the fift, came here his loue to craue:
The French King met our King at Guynes, his fauour for to haue.
And when he was in Fraunce, as fortune flong the maine:
At Flowdan feilde as was the chaunce, a noble King was slaine.
The fleet of Fraunce at Portsmouth to, durst not on Henry looke.
His Shippes burnt Trayport than, and causd that Coast to quake:
He went before to Turwyn towne, and so Turney did take.
Wonne Bulleigne after this, built neere it many a seat:
All yeeldes where King in person is, his presence was so great.
Whiles these things were in hand, as doutfull ballance stood:
In Scotland many a warlike band, he had for causes good.
He neuer carde for peace, nor how began the iarre:
If he his Kingdome could increase, or honour winne by warre.
Shall such a King now sleep, with crawling wormes below?
Nay rather we his losse should weep, that did defend vs so.
Praise Cæsar you that please, and lookes into a state:
There was not borne beyond the seas, nor yet in England late
So great a King in deed, for many speciall thinges:
Turne ore your books, both look & reed, among your famous Kings
And Henry theight shall goe, amid the noblest sorte,
When Trump of fame shall shrillie blowe, to sound his true reporte.
A famous Soldiarlike King.
FINIS.
The Epitaph of the most toward ympe of grace, King Edward the sixt.
The lamp is out, that lightned English hartes,
Whose liuely showe, & beuty shone so bright
And gaue such ioy, to all our inward smartes,
That well was him, that had theron a sight,
Edward I meane, that was our King by right.
The golden torche and candle matutyne:
Did burne and blaze amid his Christall eyen.
But wel a way, those lookes their life hath lost:
Full dimme and darke,
is now the sparke,
That whilom was the stay of Englands boast.
Whose liuely showe, & beuty shone so bright
And gaue such ioy, to all our inward smartes,
That well was him, that had theron a sight,
Edward I meane, that was our King by right.
The golden torche and candle matutyne:
Did burne and blaze amid his Christall eyen.
But wel a way, those lookes their life hath lost:
Full dimme and darke,
is now the sparke,
That whilom was the stay of Englands boast.
Now death hath dried this pleasant princely plāt
And hent our hap, an high aboue the Skyes:
who knows the losse, but they that feel the want
Wherfore the teares distilleth from our eyes.
But since this Lamb hath made his sacrifice,
And offred vp his life and vytall breath:
What can we blame but hastie cruell death?
which pluckt the rose before his leaues wer spred
yet shall his name,
remaine with fame,
And florish still although the floure be dead.
And hent our hap, an high aboue the Skyes:
who knows the losse, but they that feel the want
Wherfore the teares distilleth from our eyes.
But since this Lamb hath made his sacrifice,
And offred vp his life and vytall breath:
What can we blame but hastie cruell death?
which pluckt the rose before his leaues wer spred
yet shall his name,
remaine with fame,
And florish still although the floure be dead.
A face so fraught, with fauour blooming still,
A cheene so chaste, subduing eche desire:
A hed so ripe, with grace and cunning skill,
A tongue so deckt, and clad in trothes attyre,
A hart so meeke, and cleane deuoide of yre.
An eare so pure to heare the poor mans cause,
A wit to iudge, a zeale to make good lawes.
A hand so cleer from blood, look well theron:
was seldome seene,
in youth so greene,
Alas the while, our Lanterns light is gone.
A cheene so chaste, subduing eche desire:
A hed so ripe, with grace and cunning skill,
A tongue so deckt, and clad in trothes attyre,
A hart so meeke, and cleane deuoide of yre.
An eare so pure to heare the poor mans cause,
A wit to iudge, a zeale to make good lawes.
A hand so cleer from blood, look well theron:
was seldome seene,
in youth so greene,
Alas the while, our Lanterns light is gone.
His wit wan praise, as by his waies appeeres,
His vertuous steppes, wan fame among the wice:
His tender youth, did teach the aged yeeres,
His sober life rebuked euery vice,
His woords & works did passe the pearle in price
His iestures all, if they were grau'ne in golde,
A mirror were to learne both young and olde.
Wherfore vnmeete the earth is for his graue:
His place of rest,
is Abrahams brest,
A worthy Tomb, for such a King to haue.
His vertuous steppes, wan fame among the wice:
His tender youth, did teach the aged yeeres,
His sober life rebuked euery vice,
His woords & works did passe the pearle in price
His iestures all, if they were grau'ne in golde,
A mirror were to learne both young and olde.
Wherfore vnmeete the earth is for his graue:
His place of rest,
is Abrahams brest,
A worthy Tomb, for such a King to haue.
FINIS.
The Epitaph of the right honourable Counseller, Sir Walter Mildmay Knight.
In thirtie yeres there dropt away, from mightye Cæsars traine:
Of cheef account that bore great sway, twice 10. twice 4. & twaine.
That rul'd by course in Senate seate, whilst glasse of life did run:
Whose fearfull frown and angry threat, good subiects sought to shun.
Ech one found freends to waile below, their death with greife of brest
When from this world these guides did goe, to place of greater rest.
But few in Court, gaind more good will, thē wise graue Mildmay did:
In whose milde show and worthy skill, were heapes of vertues hid.
In Court not only lou'd alone, but Country yeelds him fame:
and boasts, that there his bounty shone, & burnd with quēchles flame
Like blazing torche on mountaine top, that could all blasts abide:
Yet seem'd but little twinckling Star, which is farre off espyed.
But euery worde and sentence sweet, he did in world let fall:
Exprest an hye and noble spirit, and knowledge great withall.
His silence spake by stayed lookes, but when he moou'd his tongue:
Like tinging bell of siluer sound, the Counsell chamber ronge.
His in ward man was arm'd and clad, with priuye coate of proofe:
To vse and weare, for others weale, but not his owne behoofe.
No malice, wrath, nor angry rage, nor sullen nature strange:
Could mooue his minde in all his age, nor make his manner change.
A Father that could rules set downe, of law and learned lore:
Knit vp such pointes in sentence short, as few had heard before.
To Princ and state a member fit, that Country could not spare:
Right sharp of sence, profound of wit, of iudgement deep and rare.
To suters all of nature good, but to the Princes men:
A ready help from root of hart, with head, with hand and pen.
Not sowre, but full of sugred speech, that quenched bitter gall:
As hony dropped from his lippes, where liquour sweet should fall.
Sir Walter Mildmay water brought, to nourish fountaine head:
Yet gaue to those that water sought, and were with fountaine fed.
His promise wrought performance straight, yet ware & wise to speak
Not won with gifts or worldly sleight, that makes men promis break.
But drawne by iudgement and desart, to showe his godly zeale:
That lodg'd in louing harmles hart, that honord publique weale.
His credit so through God began, whose grace was his defence:
That dayly he great credit wan, and went with credit hence.
When pangues of death approch't apace, & would haue closd his eyne
He spake with milde and cheerfull face, glad words that were deuine.
Of eche degree as though some Saint, were sent from God aboue:
To showe how he should serued be, in faith, in feare and loue.
Wherat the hearers all gan weep, that then their Iewell lost:
Whiles Mildmay mildly fell a sleep, and so gaue vp the ghost.
Of cheef account that bore great sway, twice 10. twice 4. & twaine.
That rul'd by course in Senate seate, whilst glasse of life did run:
Whose fearfull frown and angry threat, good subiects sought to shun.
Ech one found freends to waile below, their death with greife of brest
When from this world these guides did goe, to place of greater rest.
But few in Court, gaind more good will, thē wise graue Mildmay did:
In whose milde show and worthy skill, were heapes of vertues hid.
In Court not only lou'd alone, but Country yeelds him fame:
and boasts, that there his bounty shone, & burnd with quēchles flame
Like blazing torche on mountaine top, that could all blasts abide:
Yet seem'd but little twinckling Star, which is farre off espyed.
But euery worde and sentence sweet, he did in world let fall:
Exprest an hye and noble spirit, and knowledge great withall.
His silence spake by stayed lookes, but when he moou'd his tongue:
Like tinging bell of siluer sound, the Counsell chamber ronge.
His in ward man was arm'd and clad, with priuye coate of proofe:
To vse and weare, for others weale, but not his owne behoofe.
No malice, wrath, nor angry rage, nor sullen nature strange:
Could mooue his minde in all his age, nor make his manner change.
A Father that could rules set downe, of law and learned lore:
Knit vp such pointes in sentence short, as few had heard before.
To Princ and state a member fit, that Country could not spare:
Right sharp of sence, profound of wit, of iudgement deep and rare.
To suters all of nature good, but to the Princes men:
A ready help from root of hart, with head, with hand and pen.
Not sowre, but full of sugred speech, that quenched bitter gall:
As hony dropped from his lippes, where liquour sweet should fall.
Sir Walter Mildmay water brought, to nourish fountaine head:
Yet gaue to those that water sought, and were with fountaine fed.
His promise wrought performance straight, yet ware & wise to speak
Not won with gifts or worldly sleight, that makes men promis break.
But drawne by iudgement and desart, to showe his godly zeale:
That lodg'd in louing harmles hart, that honord publique weale.
His credit so through God began, whose grace was his defence:
When pangues of death approch't apace, & would haue closd his eyne
He spake with milde and cheerfull face, glad words that were deuine.
Of eche degree as though some Saint, were sent from God aboue:
To showe how he should serued be, in faith, in feare and loue.
Wherat the hearers all gan weep, that then their Iewell lost:
Whiles Mildmay mildly fell a sleep, and so gaue vp the ghost.
Not dead, death hath but broke the stamp, in Cābridg liues this knight
Where he set vp so faire a lamp, that giues all England light.
Where he set vp so faire a lamp, that giues all England light.
FINIS.
The Epitaph of the right honourable, Lord Ambrose Dudley Erle of Warwicke.
Leaue off to write, spare speech a space, be mute O muse of mine:Let blubring teares bedeaw thy face, O waile with weeping eyne.
The course of life that drawes but breth, in dollor all his dayes:
Till hart stringes burst, till hower of death, til pilgrim goes his wayes.
Vaine pomp is but a puffe or toy, so is both rule and raigne:
For all that heere we do enioy, is nought but woe and paine:
Hast thou not seene the highest tree, receiue his falling blowe?
Death hath respect to no degree, when life from hence must goe.
Satte Leyster not in Senate seate, as hye as man might clime?
Was neuer heere, none halfe so great, nor happy in our time.
Yet loe, a so daine leaue he tooke, and went where God assignd:
His Brother that like Mars did looke, a man of noble minde.
Who all good men did praise and loue, is packt from vs in poste:
Thus when of force men must remooue, and world desires him most.
His glasse is run, his date is doone, and he must bid farwell:
to all the pleasures vnder Sunne, and all that heere do dwell.
But Warwick that won great good will, too soone was hastned hence:
For Warwick was most warlike still, to stand in rightes defence.
To serue the Prince, his pursse, or power, was euer ready prest:
Like Fortresse or like stately Tower, in armes among the best.
To spread in feilde the ragged staffe, against all forraine foes:
As wind that driues both dust & chaffe, in th'aire where tēpest bloes
So had he minde to thrust them downe, that fight with stayned troth
To harme or touch onr land, our Crowne, our Prince & coūtry both.
Glad was Erle Warwick euery way, to do the good he might:
He kept the euen ballance iust, that eche man had true weight:
He was a man of speciall trust, cleane voyde of craft or sleight.
Most plain of words, most plain of deeds, plain dealing led him throgh
Amid these briers & scratching weeds, that wounds plain people now
No storme nor change could make him turn, he stood like brasen wall
Against fine world, proud mindes, false faith, vntruth, and treasons all.
At Norwich in King Edwards raygne, amid ranke rebelles rage:
The horsse he rod on there was slaine, in prime of Ambrose age.
Saint Quintins where Lord Harry dyed, sets yet his valure forth:
At seige of Hawne was Warwick tryed, and found a man of woorth.
New-hauen till the plague began, he held full safe and sound:
Where many a valiant Englishman, made Ringraue giue them ground.
No greefe, no tort, nor torment sore, could daunt his courage great:
A Lyons hart in brest he bore, where hammers long did beat.
Of one deuice or other still, and sounded like a bell
To God's great glory and his will, that conquered death and hell.
To Heauen held he on his pace, for when his time he knew:
He did but turne from freendes his face, and bad the world a dew.
FINIS.
The Epitaph of the moste honourable, Sir Christopher Hatton Knight, late Lord Chaunceller of England.
Let droppes of blood from wounded hart, bewaile our losse of lateTeares are too base to show the smart, is felt for this great state.
No mourners voice, nor yelling cries, nor sighes nor sobs may serue:
Nor all the cunning vnder skies, from death can life preserue.
No worldly pomp, nor Princes grace, can lengthen life an hower:
All glory lasts but heer a space, it withers like a flower.
A mightie man of great account, whose fate the clowds did clime:
Whose fortune dayly did surmount, great numbers in his time.
Telles that and much more matter showes, of honours tickle stay:
That like a candle out it goes, and quickly steales away.
Long is it ere a tree be growen, to answer our desire:
But soone are mightie oakes ore throwne, and flong in flaming fire.
No greese so great, as see flow'rs bud, in gardens where we walk:
And whē their sent should do vs good, a storm striks down the stalk.
When Prince and Country lon'd thee both, as by their plaints apeers.
An angry planet took thee hence, that by thy vertue rose:
And stood like Fortresse of defence, against all forraine foes.
The Lawyers ioy, the lands delight, the Countries comfort to:
A ready head and hand to write, where help some good might do.
To freend most fast, to foe most sterne, to poore full franke and free:
A wit that could deep doutes dezerne, and troth from falshood see.
Cald for good giftes to speciall place, and speciall fortune found:
Durst show in world a hart and face, with conscience cleer and sound.
That roome and credit he possest, requir'd a man of worth:
Which he in substance so exprest, by setting iustice forth.
That common people still salutes, his soule with blessings sweet:
A tree that brings forth such good frutes, for cōmon weal most meet.
A chosen Chaunceller from aboue, to please the best below:
Won open fame and secret loue, of those that wisedome know.
Held house where bountie largesse cryed, & kept so great a traine:
As argues now when that he dyed, good mind did glory gaine.
Lou'd freends & seruants more then gold, and precious was the poore
Sought help by sute or mildly would, craue almes at Hattons door.
In sutes he held an euen hand, as ballance goes by weight:
The worst to fall, the best to stand, and heare their iudgment streight.
The Iudges of the law can tell, the iustice of his minde:
And so the world can witnes well, what grace good men did find.
The good he did shall neuer dye, and so O worthy Knight:
Though lowe in earth thy body lye, and soule haue taken flight.
A higher place we hope thou hast, and dost with Angelles dwell:
For brunt of worldly broiles are past, as showes thy last farwell.
FINIS.
Lenuoy.
Who mourneth more then he that made this Verse?To whom good turnes, this Lord did often send:
Come noble Guard, and kneele before his herse,
Whose helping hand, your wages did amend.
Come seruantes all, and do his fame defend,
That made you clime, vp the great Chamber stayres:
And come true freendes and shed with me some teares.
Come, come away, the Coarse in coffyn[illeg.] lyes,
That countance gaue to more then I will showe:
And wayte on him, that to the graue doth goe,
Come fall in rank, that doth your Captain knowe.
And trayle your selues, along hard stony ground:
And cry la mort, when dolefull drumme doth sound.
This body must be buried all with shot,
Because he once was in a Princely band:
And of a Prince, such grace and fauour got,
He bore the sway and Seale of all this land,
Come Pencioners, that by your standard stand.
And bring to Church, in shining armour bright:
In Marshall martch, this three folde happy Knight.
FINIS.
Thomas Churchyard.
FINIS
| A reuyuing of the deade by verses that foloweth | |