A Remembraunce, of the woorthie and well imployed life, of the right honorable Sir Nicholas Bacon Knight Lorde keper of the greate Seale of Englande, and one of the Queenes Maiesties most honorable Priuie Counsell, who deceased, the 20 daye of Februarie 1578. UUith an exhortation necessarie for euery estate. The woorke of George Whetstones |
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 | A Remembraunce, of the woorthie and well imployed life, of the right honorable Sir Nicholas Bacon Knight |  |
TO THE RIGHT VVORSHIPFULL Maister Gilbert Gerrard, the
Queenes Maiesties Attorney generall, George Whetstons
gent. wisheth continuaunce of healthe with increase of happinesse.
A REMEMBRAVNCE of the worthie and well imployed life, of the right honourable, sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, Lorde keeper of the greate Seale of Englande, and of the Queenes Maiesties moste honourable priuie Counsell.
Solon
the sage, enacted this decree,
That onely men, that liu'd and died well,
Jn written bookes, regestered should bee.
His reason was, the leaude, whiche liu'd in hell.
Ought not in fame, among the good to dwell.
Yet least their liues, might so vnblamed passe,
Jn publike vewe, he wrote their faultes, in brasse.
That onely men, that liu'd and died well,
Jn written bookes, regestered should bee.
His reason was, the leaude, whiche liu'd in hell.
Ought not in fame, among the good to dwell.
Yet least their liues, might so vnblamed passe,
Jn publike vewe, he wrote their faultes, in brasse.
And truthe to saie, good deedes, and bad brede fame,
Jf once in books, about the worlde thei packe:
And wicked men, to get them selues a name,
But little waie, to woorke their countries wracke,
As he that did Dianaes Temple sacke.
Therefore that suche maie lose their after hope,
Baffoule their names, and bane them with a rope.
Jf once in books, about the worlde thei packe:
And wicked men, to get them selues a name,
But little waie, to woorke their countries wracke,
As he that did Dianaes Temple sacke.
Therefore that suche maie lose their after hope,
Baffoule their names, and bane them with a rope.
Tel least my woordes, be construed from the sence,
Of wicked men, the ruine and the faule,
Briefly to write, J holde for no offence.
But rather fit, the climyng head to caule,
From suche attemps, as after maie hym gaule,
But to the crime a couller for to vse,
An other tyme, is cause of like abuse.
Of wicked men, the ruine and the faule,
Briefly to write, J holde for no offence.
But rather fit, the climyng head to caule,
From suche attemps, as after maie hym gaule,
But to the crime a couller for to vse,
An other tyme, is cause of like abuse.
Of like abuse: maie worse, if worse maie bee,
The naughtie man, would little reake of lawe,
Jf he a cloke, could for his leudenesse see,
Thus what was ment to keepe ill men in awe.
Jn wronges geues them, a light thei neuer sawe,
And therefore good, this mischief to forelet,
That naughtie deedes, starke naked should be set.
The naughtie man, would little reake of lawe,
Jf he a cloke, could for his leudenesse see,
Thus what was ment to keepe ill men in awe.
Jn wronges geues them, a light thei neuer sawe,
And therefore good, this mischief to forelet,
That naughtie deedes, starke naked should be set.
Raine oft doeth good, yet through a hurtfull cause,
The Sunne by kinde, doeth nourishe with delight.
Euen so to shewe, their scourge that breaketh lawes,
Doeth well, but how? the free from bandes to fright.
VVhen their sweete liues, at large for to recight,
VVhiche liu'de, belou'de, and blameles scapeth deede
Maks men doe well, on zeale & not through dreede.
The Sunne by kinde, doeth nourishe with delight.
Euen so to shewe, their scourge that breaketh lawes,
Doeth well, but how? the free from bandes to fright.
VVhen their sweete liues, at large for to recight,
VVhiche liu'de, belou'de, and blameles scapeth deede
Maks men doe well, on zeale & not through dreede.
But some will saie, that carpe beyonde their wit,
The Sonne sometymes a hurtfull heate doeth sende,
And nemo, sine crimine viuit.
J graunt fewe liue, but maie some faultes amende,
The fairest Rose, hath prickels to offende.
The fruitfull Bee, that doeth sweete honnie bryng,
The houswiues hande, somtymes doeth sharply styng
The Sonne sometymes a hurtfull heate doeth sende,
And nemo, sine crimine viuit.
J graunt fewe liue, but maie some faultes amende,
The fairest Rose, hath prickels to offende.
The fruitfull Bee, that doeth sweete honnie bryng,
The houswiues hande, somtymes doeth sharply styng
But what of this? the gaine excedes the greefe,
Besides the vse, makes all thynges ill, or good,
Some men fauour, where flattrie lackes releefe,
Some doe reuenge, and neuer sheades their blood,
& some vse bothe, as though their wittes wer wood
But followe those, though sometymes thei doe sinne,
VVhose vpright liues, bothe loue and fauor winne.
Besides the vse, makes all thynges ill, or good,
Some men fauour, where flattrie lackes releefe,
Some doe reuenge, and neuer sheades their blood,
& some vse bothe, as though their wittes wer wood
But followe those, though sometymes thei doe sinne,
VVhose vpright liues, bothe loue and fauor winne.
Euen one of those, sir Nicholas Bacon was,
Lorde keeper, late, keye of the common weale,
Whose death, his ioye, makes many sithe alas,
Her Maiestie, who knewe his faithfull zeale,
Her Counsell, when, in greate affaires thei deale.
His frendes of course, their plaintes with teares doe plant
But wrōged men, maie most be waile his want
Lorde keeper, late, keye of the common weale,
Whose death, his ioye, makes many sithe alas,
Her Maiestie, who knewe his faithfull zeale,
Her Counsell, when, in greate affaires thei deale.
His frendes of course, their plaintes with teares doe plant
But wrōged men, maie most be waile his want
His breatheles corse (but not begorde with blood,
Nor headles, as a Traitor) J present,
But numbryng hym, among the perfecte good,
J bryng hym forthe, to paie the yearth his rent,
VVho there ingrau'd, to drawe men from lament,
His vertuous deedes, whiche liue in spight of death,
My willyng muse, shall alwaies keepe in breath.
Nor headles, as a Traitor) J present,
But numbryng hym, among the perfecte good,
J bryng hym forthe, to paie the yearth his rent,
VVho there ingrau'd, to drawe men from lament,
His vertuous deedes, whiche liue in spight of death,
My willyng muse, shall alwaies keepe in breath.
To blase his birthe, botelesse, or needelesse were,
Maioribus virtute preluxi
Abideth touche, with honour euery where,
VVhose nature, is, in acte, not name to glory,
And yet this right, none can his house deny,
But by decent, a gentleman he was,
And by desarte, to honour he did pas.
Maioribus virtute preluxi
Abideth touche, with honour euery where,
VVhose nature, is, in acte, not name to glory,
And yet this right, none can his house deny,
But by decent, a gentleman he was,
And by desarte, to honour he did pas.
First Cambridge did, with learnyng store head,
At Graies Inne, then the Lawe he did applie,
And as Sea men, with ioye and comforte fead,
Jf in the Sunne, no watrie signe thei spie,
A boun courage, my mates, faire weather crie,
So thei in youth, that did his sirmenesse see,
Deuinde in yeres, greate would his fortune bee.
At Graies Inne, then the Lawe he did applie,
And as Sea men, with ioye and comforte fead,
Jf in the Sunne, no watrie signe thei spie,
A boun courage, my mates, faire weather crie,
So thei in youth, that did his sirmenesse see,
Deuinde in yeres, greate would his fortune bee.
His wit was quicke, yet raisde with self conceight,
By rashnes he, to rise did not assaie,
Fishe sone are caught, that bight at euery baight,
Like lucke haue thei, that clime without a staie,
VVhiche made hym wright, Mediocria firma,
The Snaile is slowe, yet safely scales the Towre,
UUhen fliyng birdes, are scarred euery howre.
By rashnes he, to rise did not assaie,
Fishe sone are caught, that bight at euery baight,
Like lucke haue thei, that clime without a staie,
VVhiche made hym wright, Mediocria firma,
The Snaile is slowe, yet safely scales the Towre,
UUhen fliyng birdes, are scarred euery howre.
He tooke his course, in wisedome like the Snaile,
He sought no meanes, but merite to aspire,
VVho slowly creepes, but yet doeth neuer quaile,
And euen as heate, be wraieth hidden fire,
So vertue giues, in fine the good their hire,
Though Enuie sekes, their benefite to thwarte,
Or thei them selues, imprison their desarte.
He sought no meanes, but merite to aspire,
VVho slowly creepes, but yet doeth neuer quaile,
And euen as heate, be wraieth hidden fire,
So vertue giues, in fine the good their hire,
Though Enuie sekes, their benefite to thwarte,
Or thei them selues, imprison their desarte.
Sufficient prose, this good Lorde keeper showes,
VVhose wisedome hym, with suche a credite clad,
As euery daie, in greate account he growes,
UUho long a goe, a worthie office had.
His counsell graue, did euery creature glad,
He Speaker was, long of the Parlament,
And as he saied the matter alwaies went.
VVhose wisedome hym, with suche a credite clad,
As euery daie, in greate account he growes,
UUho long a goe, a worthie office had.
His counsell graue, did euery creature glad,
He Speaker was, long of the Parlament,
And as he saied the matter alwaies went.
And good cause why, he was, in speache repos'de
He still; deuis'de, before he did derecte,
He neuer with, his Prince, nor Countrie glos'de,
But euer did, the common weale respecte,
He blamed faultes, but sild the faultie checte,
He brideled wrathe, and fauour bleard hym not,
UUhich rare good giftes, a matcheles fame him got.
He still; deuis'de, before he did derecte,
He neuer with, his Prince, nor Countrie glos'de,
But euer did, the common weale respecte,
He blamed faultes, but sild the faultie checte,
He brideled wrathe, and fauour bleard hym not,
UUhich rare good giftes, a matcheles fame him got.
But whiche belonges, moste to a Magistrate,
A Protestant, he was in zeale, as showe,
VVhiche heauenly grace, graft on his speciall giftes,
VVithin his minde, made, worthy thoughts to growe
And in the darke, as men a Diamonde knowe,
So by his deedes, the Queene foreknewe hym iust,
And in her realme, plaste hym, in chiefest trust.
A Protestant, he was in zeale, as showe,
VVhiche heauenly grace, graft on his speciall giftes,
VVithin his minde, made, worthy thoughts to growe
And in the darke, as men a Diamonde knowe,
So by his deedes, the Queene foreknewe hym iust,
And in her realme, plaste hym, in chiefest trust.
Her Counceler, and keper of the Seale,
She made hym bothe, of honour either charge,
Yea pillers of our happie Common weale,
And as through trust, she trusted hym at large,
So he with truthe, his dutie did discharge,
His counsell was, bothe sounde and quicke, in neede,
Yea all chaunst well, that his deuise decreede.
She made hym bothe, of honour either charge,
Yea pillers of our happie Common weale,
And as through trust, she trusted hym at large,
So he with truthe, his dutie did discharge,
His counsell was, bothe sounde and quicke, in neede,
Yea all chaunst well, that his deuise decreede.
Besides his faithe, whiche moste delightes his soule,
VVhich holds his fame, vntill the worlde doth ende,
To foster wrong, he tooke no priuie toule,
Neither letters, lorde, nor all that helpe could lende,
Against the truthe, should make, his consience bende,
The wronged man, how poore so were his plight,
Against the riche, he would restore to right.
VVhich holds his fame, vntill the worlde doth ende,
To foster wrong, he tooke no priuie toule,
Neither letters, lorde, nor all that helpe could lende,
Against the truthe, should make, his consience bende,
The wronged man, how poore so were his plight,
Against the riche, he would restore to right.
His head was staied, before his tounge did walke,
His eyes did searche, the simple sutors harte:
He trusted teares, farre, more then filed talke,
For well he wist, thei flow'de from poore mens smart,
And truthe needes not, the aide of Retoricks art,
To heare complaintes, one eare was still awake,
The other sleapt, till the defendaunt spake.
His eyes did searche, the simple sutors harte:
He trusted teares, farre, more then filed talke,
For well he wist, thei flow'de from poore mens smart,
And truthe needes not, the aide of Retoricks art,
To heare complaintes, one eare was still awake,
The other sleapt, till the defendaunt spake.
He washt his handes, from doyng any wrong,
He cloy'd his harte, with care, for others ease,
He spoild his legges, in sittyng ouer long,
Betweene parties, foule discordes to appease,
For others helpe, he did his healthe disease,
Not muche vnlike, to good Licurgus course,
UUho liu'de exild, to keepe his lawes in force.
He cloy'd his harte, with care, for others ease,
He spoild his legges, in sittyng ouer long,
Betweene parties, foule discordes to appease,
For others helpe, he did his healthe disease,
Not muche vnlike, to good Licurgus course,
UUho liu'de exild, to keepe his lawes in force.
One spetiall Grace, he vsde with gracelesse men,
UUith bitter tauntes, their hartes he hardned not,
But did his threates, with sweete intretie blen,
By whiche faire meanes, to mende, he many got,
UUhere (Plato saieth) the Iudge, whose wordes are whot
From all men doeth, regarde of dutie drawe,
And duetie gon, feare kepeth fewe in awe.
UUith bitter tauntes, their hartes he hardned not,
But did his threates, with sweete intretie blen,
By whiche faire meanes, to mende, he many got,
UUhere (Plato saieth) the Iudge, whose wordes are whot
From all men doeth, regarde of dutie drawe,
And duetie gon, feare kepeth fewe in awe.
To chearishe lawe, whiche made hym first to rise,
Jn Grayes Jnne, he, did builde a Librarie,
Frō filchers handes, where lawe bookes chained lies,
The Lawe it self, is free for euery eye,
One office eake, he made for the Chauncerie,
UUith other good deedes, learnyng to aduaunce.
The which besides, my wortheles verse doe glaunce.
Jn Grayes Jnne, he, did builde a Librarie,
Frō filchers handes, where lawe bookes chained lies,
The Lawe it self, is free for euery eye,
One office eake, he made for the Chauncerie,
UUith other good deedes, learnyng to aduaunce.
The which besides, my wortheles verse doe glaunce.
And yet my woordes, which of his worth come short
VVould gound wise clarkes, into workes to trāslate,
UUhen he hymself (as witnesseth report)
Jn daiely actes, a farre more credite gate.
UUhat would you more, he left but fewe his mate,
UUorthie therefore, of Abraham his blis:
UUhiche swetely feele, bothe of hymself, and his.
VVould gound wise clarkes, into workes to trāslate,
UUhen he hymself (as witnesseth report)
Jn daiely actes, a farre more credite gate.
UUhat would you more, he left but fewe his mate,
UUorthie therefore, of Abraham his blis:
UUhiche swetely feele, bothe of hymself, and his.
He liued long, and lacke did neuer taste,
His toile in youth, brought honour to his age,
His wealth increast, how so his healthe did waste,
Yet sicknesse failde, his iudgement to asswage.
The Prouerbe goeth, once olde, againe a page,
But till he died, his graue aduise did deale,
Jn woorkes of worthe, vnto the common weale.
His toile in youth, brought honour to his age,
His wealth increast, how so his healthe did waste,
Yet sicknesse failde, his iudgement to asswage.
The Prouerbe goeth, once olde, againe a page,
But till he died, his graue aduise did deale,
Jn woorkes of worthe, vnto the common weale.
Jn wedlocke bound, most vertuous was his wife
A blessyng greate, whiche many greate men mis,
By whom, he had (to ioye his aged life,)
Of children store, whom Grace so well did blis,
As men deuin'de, his giftes did growe in his.
This hap, he had, this honour he obtainde,
And this good life, his honest merite gainde.
A blessyng greate, whiche many greate men mis,
By whom, he had (to ioye his aged life,)
Of children store, whom Grace so well did blis,
As men deuin'de, his giftes did growe in his.
This hap, he had, this honour he obtainde,
And this good life, his honest merite gainde.
But mislyng droppes, in tyme doth marble pearce
Foule Canker ruste, in tyme doeth Iron freate:
Time bringes in time, proude princes to their hearce
Time, youth, strēgth, pride, & glorious pōpe doth eate
Tyme striketh doune, euen with the lowe the greate,
This tyme, that once gaue hym, what he could craue,
Jn fine deuis'de, to bryng hym to his graue.
Foule Canker ruste, in tyme doeth Iron freate:
Time bringes in time, proude princes to their hearce
Time, youth, strēgth, pride, & glorious pōpe doth eate
Tyme striketh doune, euen with the lowe the greate,
This tyme, that once gaue hym, what he could craue,
Jn fine deuis'de, to bryng hym to his graue.
But wisedome, whiche triumpheth ouer tyme,
Foretolde hym ofte, how brittell was his state,
How man on yearth, was naught but durt and slime
How like a theefe, Death creepes within the gate.
To staie whose stroke, how praiers come to late,
And therefore good (this tyrant to defie,)
He daiely liu'de, as he would howrely dye.
Foretolde hym ofte, how brittell was his state,
How man on yearth, was naught but durt and slime
How like a theefe, Death creepes within the gate.
To staie whose stroke, how praiers come to late,
And therefore good (this tyrant to defie,)
He daiely liu'de, as he would howrely dye.
The huge greate Oke, breakes with a little blaste,
Jf that through age, the roote be worne awaie,
The grose man so, a qualme doeth ouercaste,
Jf yeres or greef, in Nature woorke decaie.
UUhiche perill he, did in hymself forewaie,
Eare sommons came, who did his consience straight,
And for his Quietus est, on Death did waight.
Jf that through age, the roote be worne awaie,
The grose man so, a qualme doeth ouercaste,
Jf yeres or greef, in Nature woorke decaie.
UUhiche perill he, did in hymself forewaie,
Eare sommons came, who did his consience straight,
And for his Quietus est, on Death did waight.
He built a house, to lodge his breathlesse corse,
And gasde theron, which fleshe doeth quake to heare
UUhich proues his mynde, did beare a Phenix force
To burne her self, who makes her self the fire.
Yet as her duste, a Phenix newe doeth reare,
So (well he wist) whiche ioy doeth worldlyngs griue,
By Death, his soule, and bodie bothe should liue.
And gasde theron, which fleshe doeth quake to heare
UUhich proues his mynde, did beare a Phenix force
To burne her self, who makes her self the fire.
Yet as her duste, a Phenix newe doeth reare,
So (well he wist) whiche ioy doeth worldlyngs griue,
By Death, his soule, and bodie bothe should liue.
O happie man, whom honours, could not blinde,
Nor wealth holde backe, from willyngnes to dye,
His consience cleare, doeth proue his quiet minde,
That neuer shronke, when Death was in his eye.
Naye then he one his fleshe, his forse did trie,
For when that Death, by sicknesse pearst his harte,
He seamde as freashe, as if he fealt no smarte.
Nor wealth holde backe, from willyngnes to dye,
His consience cleare, doeth proue his quiet minde,
That neuer shronke, when Death was in his eye.
Naye then he one his fleshe, his forse did trie,
For when that Death, by sicknesse pearst his harte,
He seamde as freashe, as if he fealt no smarte.
Of all my care, see here an ende quoth he,
J counte it care, whiche others comfort holde,
Bothe health, and wealth, from care are seldome free
(The cheefest ioyes, that in the worlde are solde)
Sweete is the name, but sowre the vse of golde,
From office and, from honours troubles come,
Nemo beatus, ante obitum.
J counte it care, whiche others comfort holde,
Bothe health, and wealth, from care are seldome free
(The cheefest ioyes, that in the worlde are solde)
Sweete is the name, but sowre the vse of golde,
From office and, from honours troubles come,
Nemo beatus, ante obitum.
O would that mā, would waie his wretched state
So long as he liues, in this synfull mase,
A verie mase, this wicked worlde J rate,
UUhiche doeth begile, with many a wanton gase.
UUhose firmest ioye, is like a fagots blase.
Yet for this ioye, whiche fadeth as a flowre,
The Deuill by Death, doeth many a Soule deuowre.
So long as he liues, in this synfull mase,
A verie mase, this wicked worlde J rate,
UUhiche doeth begile, with many a wanton gase.
UUhose firmest ioye, is like a fagots blase.
Yet for this ioye, whiche fadeth as a flowre,
The Deuill by Death, doeth many a Soule deuowre.
O foolishe man, thy worldlie hauntes forget,
UUhose beaten trakes, to hell the hye waies are,
The fairest glode, brynges woodcockes to the net,
The muse betraies, the Conie to the snare,
Euen so the worlde, with pleasures euery where,
Traines on the fleshe, to satisfie his thought,
Till soule and all, in Sathans ginns be cought.
UUhose beaten trakes, to hell the hye waies are,
The fairest glode, brynges woodcockes to the net,
The muse betraies, the Conie to the snare,
Euen so the worlde, with pleasures euery where,
Traines on the fleshe, to satisfie his thought,
Till soule and all, in Sathans ginns be cought.
The Soule and fleshe, impunges the other still,
The flesh desires, what, Death & chaunce doeth waft
The Soule couets what, none of these can kill,
VVho (foilyng fleshe) in Paradise is plaste,
VVhose certaine ioye, is neuer sowre in taste.
VVhat worser matche, can any man then make,
Then incerta, for certis thus to take.
The flesh desires, what, Death & chaunce doeth waft
The Soule couets what, none of these can kill,
VVho (foilyng fleshe) in Paradise is plaste,
VVhose certaine ioye, is neuer sowre in taste.
VVhat worser matche, can any man then make,
Then incerta, for certis thus to take.
These godlie woordes, in greatest griefes he vsde
UUhiche daiely he, in vertuous woorkes did proue
And in this mynde (whose might, but fewe abusde)
UUith euery man, in charitie and loue,
UUhom deadly panges, to passions could not moue.
Euen in the place, where long he liu'de in peace,
By Natures course, he (happie) did decease.
UUhiche daiely he, in vertuous woorkes did proue
And in this mynde (whose might, but fewe abusde)
UUith euery man, in charitie and loue,
UUhom deadly panges, to passions could not moue.
Euen in the place, where long he liu'de in peace,
By Natures course, he (happie) did decease.
His blessed Soule, his breathlesse corse thus lefte,
His counterfet, the vewe deserueth yeat,
But his good deedes (by Death which are not reste)
Jn Iudges hartes, are worthie to be writte,
A house for them (as golde for Diamonds) fitte,
And on his tombe, for euery eye to see,
his fame to shewe, this sweete recorde would be.
His counterfet, the vewe deserueth yeat,
But his good deedes (by Death which are not reste)
Jn Iudges hartes, are worthie to be writte,
A house for them (as golde for Diamonds) fitte,
And on his tombe, for euery eye to see,
his fame to shewe, this sweete recorde would be.
An Epitaphe aunswerable his honourable vertues.
Here
vnder lies, sir Nicholas Bacon Knight,
Lorde keper late, but not of Iustice spare,
VVhose office was, to giue wrong'd men their right,
A right to vse, whiche charge, was all his care,
Bribes coyn'd no grace, whereas the cause was bare,
He liu'd belou'd, and is lamented deade,
Jn mens good will, his giftes, this liking breade.
Lorde keper late, but not of Iustice spare,
VVhose office was, to giue wrong'd men their right,
A right to vse, whiche charge, was all his care,
Bribes coyn'd no grace, whereas the cause was bare,
He liu'd belou'd, and is lamented deade,
Jn mens good will, his giftes, this liking breade.
Exhortatio.
Vnto
the worlde (where he was well belou'd)
J sende this worke, not philed like his fame,
VVhiche with the test of true reporte approu'd,
J wishe the best, but liued by the same,
But soft, faire woordes, for feare J purchase blame,
Ne vltra crepidam suter, be wise,
Moste men, praise or blame, but feawe can aduise.
J sende this worke, not philed like his fame,
VVhiche with the test of true reporte approu'd,
J wishe the best, but liued by the same,
But soft, faire woordes, for feare J purchase blame,
Ne vltra crepidam suter, be wise,
Moste men, praise or blame, but feawe can aduise.
The Prouerbe goes, he hath a Crowe to pull,
UUhiche takes a taske, the learned rules to showe,
Neither his wit, nor iudgement must be dull,
Least that the leaude, his lessons ouerthrowe,
But what of this; the wise that sience knowe,
(Euen as the Bee, winns Honie from a weede)
Jn worthlesse bookes, morallitie will reade:
UUhiche takes a taske, the learned rules to showe,
Neither his wit, nor iudgement must be dull,
Least that the leaude, his lessons ouerthrowe,
But what of this; the wise that sience knowe,
(Euen as the Bee, winns Honie from a weede)
Jn worthlesse bookes, morallitie will reade:
The wise and mightie Kyng, of Macedon,
Gaue charge a childe, should wake him with his crie,
Phillip, Phillip, thy mortall state thinke on,
A morrall note, for suche as looke so hye,
As if foresight, were alwaie in their eye,
VVhen on mans wit (saue one) hath yet been suche,
But small aduise, might sometyme aide hym muche,
Gaue charge a childe, should wake him with his crie,
Phillip, Phillip, thy mortall state thinke on,
A morrall note, for suche as looke so hye,
As if foresight, were alwaie in their eye,
VVhen on mans wit (saue one) hath yet been suche,
But small aduise, might sometyme aide hym muche,
Kyng Ptolomi, the greate Astronomer,
Tooke greate delight, with Shepherds oft to sitte,
UUhose notes he likte, of fowle and faire weather,
Rude milo, taught, the Romaine Senate witte,
That clemencie, for conquered men was fitte,
Euen so my muse (perchaunce) maie hit the marke,
That will content, or teache the learned clarke.
Tooke greate delight, with Shepherds oft to sitte,
UUhose notes he likte, of fowle and faire weather,
Rude milo, taught, the Romaine Senate witte,
That clemencie, for conquered men was fitte,
Euen so my muse (perchaunce) maie hit the marke,
That will content, or teache the learned clarke.
Firste since my penne, in hande, did take a taste,
To shewe his praise, that liu'de and died well,
The which performde (not as his worth doeth aske)
But euen as farre, as my good will, could tell,
UUhere self conceight, sends many vnto hell,
J wishe all men, by his example learne,
To vse the worlde, as thei maie heauen yearne.
To shewe his praise, that liu'de and died well,
The which performde (not as his worth doeth aske)
But euen as farre, as my good will, could tell,
UUhere self conceight, sends many vnto hell,
J wishe all men, by his example learne,
To vse the worlde, as thei maie heauen yearne.
To trust the worlde, is to deceiue our Soule,
To loue his luste, woorkes losse vnto our healtht,
His youthfull ioyes, lades crooked age with dole,
To take his prais, is to good fame a stealthe,
To sothe his Pride, consumeth all our wealthe.
His quaffyng cuppes, of vaine delight to taste.
Upon the mynde, doeth straight a Dropsie caste.
To loue his luste, woorkes losse vnto our healtht,
His youthfull ioyes, lades crooked age with dole,
To take his prais, is to good fame a stealthe,
To sothe his Pride, consumeth all our wealthe.
His quaffyng cuppes, of vaine delight to taste.
Upon the mynde, doeth straight a Dropsie caste.
But if that man, did neuer taste his sowre,
A slender tyme, his sweete, indures God wotte,
The fairest Rose, semes freshe not halfe an howre,
The life of man, is lickned to whiche lotte,
UUhen Death doeth come, all pleasures goe to potte
And then the leaude, to thinke vpon their synne,
(That neuer endes) doe feele their paines beginne.
A slender tyme, his sweete, indures God wotte,
The fairest Rose, semes freshe not halfe an howre,
The life of man, is lickned to whiche lotte,
UUhen Death doeth come, all pleasures goe to potte
And then the leaude, to thinke vpon their synne,
(That neuer endes) doe feele their paines beginne.
Stout Sampsons strength, king Alexanders might,
Salomons wit, Azaels runnyng swift.
Riche Cræsus wealth, bould Hectors force in fight,
Haniballes wyles, Ackilles subtill drift.
Prothew, that could, his shape at pleasure shift,
Homers sweete tonge, nor Tullies learned arte.
Could ward, the dent, of Atropos his darte.
Salomons wit, Azaels runnyng swift.
Riche Cræsus wealth, bould Hectors force in fight,
Haniballes wyles, Ackilles subtill drift.
Prothew, that could, his shape at pleasure shift,
Homers sweete tonge, nor Tullies learned arte.
Could ward, the dent, of Atropos his darte.
The brightest sonne, with heate a substaunce makes,
That dims his light, and clads with cloudes the aire
So pride a corse, much like the sonne that takes,
VVoorkes of him selfe, what doeth his state impaire,
Proude Absalon, was strangled in his heare,
But wheather course, or kinde doeth stop his breath,
At first or last, the prowdest vayle to death.
That dims his light, and clads with cloudes the aire
So pride a corse, much like the sonne that takes,
VVoorkes of him selfe, what doeth his state impaire,
Proude Absalon, was strangled in his heare,
But wheather course, or kinde doeth stop his breath,
At first or last, the prowdest vayle to death.
Let Midas mone, to mysers be a leache,
To gase on golde, who staru'd for lacke of meate,
But what neede J, them by examples teache,
Their care to get, their care to keepe more greate,
VVith hellishe greefes, doeth make the gredy sweate,
And all this care, tends to no other ende.
But goods to saue, for other men to spende.
To gase on golde, who staru'd for lacke of meate,
But what neede J, them by examples teache,
Their care to get, their care to keepe more greate,
VVith hellishe greefes, doeth make the gredy sweate,
And all this care, tends to no other ende.
But goods to saue, for other men to spende.
Let Cesars faule (that laied the world a longe)
Forewarne hie mindes how thei with Enuie swell,
UUormes profer force, against vnkindly wronge,
Then man, that beares, of creatures all the bell.
Disdaines, to be, disdainde in doyng well,
And he whose praise, by enuie is forestoode,
UUill seeke reuenge, vppon his enimies blood.
Forewarne hie mindes how thei with Enuie swell,
UUormes profer force, against vnkindly wronge,
Then man, that beares, of creatures all the bell.
Disdaines, to be, disdainde in doyng well,
And he whose praise, by enuie is forestoode,
UUill seeke reuenge, vppon his enimies blood.
The wrathfull man, is sildome free from woe,
A prouer be olde, but dately proued true,
The eger Cocke, this furie right doeth showe,
The whiche till death, doeth still his fight pursue.
Like fortune wrath, for angrie men doeth breve,
And yet reuenge, a passion is so sweete,
As wit must staie, or will his foe will meete.
A prouer be olde, but dately proued true,
The eger Cocke, this furie right doeth showe,
The whiche till death, doeth still his fight pursue.
Like fortune wrath, for angrie men doeth breve,
And yet reuenge, a passion is so sweete,
As wit must staie, or will his foe will meete.
Of Sodome, and Gommorha, the ruine warnes,
All sorts of men, from wantonnesse to flye,
Poore Troie still, for Paris whoredome yernes,
Stronge poysons close in golden cuppes doe lye,
Crocodyles teares, intrappeth passers bye.
The like of lust, with loue it lulls the fleashe,
Till from the bones, it doeth the marrowe threshe.
All sorts of men, from wantonnesse to flye,
Poore Troie still, for Paris whoredome yernes,
Stronge poysons close in golden cuppes doe lye,
Crocodyles teares, intrappeth passers bye.
The like of lust, with loue it lulls the fleashe,
Till from the bones, it doeth the marrowe threshe.
The headlesse corse, of Hollofernes wills,
Dronkennesse and Gluttonie to forbare,
The belchyng beast, that naught but belly fils,
Of honest men, is bauked euery where,
And of excesse, thus Plato doeth declare,
Jn peace more men, by surfet catche their bane,
Then in the wars, by sworde and shot are slaine.
Dronkennesse and Gluttonie to forbare,
The belchyng beast, that naught but belly fils,
Of honest men, is bauked euery where,
And of excesse, thus Plato doeth declare,
Jn peace more men, by surfet catche their bane,
Then in the wars, by sworde and shot are slaine.
The last but not, of worldly euels the least,
UUhen wee haue fed of vaine delights our fill,
Death commes in fine, and doeth desolue the feast,
The sight of sinne, then many a soule doeth kill,
Caule Iudas forthe, and thousandes if you will,
And will them warne, vs wretches by their faule,
That worldly ioyes, at death doe tourne to gaule.
UUhen wee haue fed of vaine delights our fill,
Death commes in fine, and doeth desolue the feast,
The sight of sinne, then many a soule doeth kill,
Caule Iudas forthe, and thousandes if you will,
And will them warne, vs wretches by their faule,
That worldly ioyes, at death doe tourne to gaule.
Epilogus.
Se heare the ioyes, that worldlynges so desire,
Se how thei haste, the death we faine would shunne,
Se here saunce Grace, fagots for Sathans fire,
Se here with all, the race this Lord did runne,
Se what a meane, from these extreames he wonne,
Se, se, at death, his consience well prepared,
And see the rest, through sinne with sickenes scared.
Se how thei haste, the death we faine would shunne,
Se here saunce Grace, fagots for Sathans fire,
Se here with all, the race this Lord did runne,
Se what a meane, from these extreames he wonne,
Se, se, at death, his consience well prepared,
And see the rest, through sinne with sickenes scared.
FINIS.
| A Remembraunce, of the woorthie and well imployed life, of the right honorable Sir Nicholas Bacon Knight | |