University of Virginia Library

THEODORVS BEZA Vezelivs.

An Epitaphe vppon the death of William Budæus, an excellent learned man of our tyme, who died at Paris in Fraunce. Anno. M. D. XL. XII. Cal. Septemb.

Bvdævs onely one alone,
(of wondrous arte and skill)
Hath made the earth, the heauens, & men
beholden to hym still.
To haughtie heauens he hath bequethd
his soule: his corps to ground:
And vnto vs he hath bequethd
his worthy workes profound.
So poore from hence he did depart,
for naught he left hymselfe:
But better far this pouertie
perdie, then wordly pelfe.

An other Epitaphe of the same Budæus.

All men bewaild Budæus death,
the ayre did also mone:
The brawlyng brookes eke wept, because
Budæus good was gone.
So men did waile, that euery where,
were papers printed seen
Of Uerses, Threnes and Epitaphes,
full fraught with teares of teene.
From ayre so dropt the rayny teares,
that shed was euery shower:
So that no drop remaynd behind,
vppon the earth to powr.
So wept the waters, that wheras
before were Barges borne:
There now might whirling wagons runne:
to dust the waues were worne.
Now heauen and earth remaines behinde,
these two alone except:
There nothyng was in all the world,
but for Budæus wept.
But sith the heauens posses his soule,
(and still posses it shall)
The earth his corps, what cause haue they,
wherefore to weepe at all?

An Epitaphe vppon the death of Katharina Texea.

Who lieth lodged here belowe,
perchaunce thou reader faine wouldst knowe:
And I my selfe would gladly tell,
but that her name I know not well.
And maruell none at all though I,
am thereof ignorant perdie:
For who most learned are of all,
wot not her name what they should call.
For if by corps supposd may be
her seex, then sure a virgin she:
But sure I wot not ponderyng all,
how I woman may her call.
For why? nor fear, nor greef, could make
her sturdy stomake stoute to quake.
She misbehavd her self in nought,
she freely spake what so she thought.
And when that silence best beseemd,
then none then she more silent deemd.
She neuer she, held dauncing deere:
she neuer deckt nor tuft her heere:
She neuer vsed paintyng dye:
she neuer vsd to role her eye:
No wanton word would she put out:
therefore she was a man no dout.
Yet sure she was no man I know,
I not why I should name her so.
Such heauenly hue suche bewty braue,
we neuer saw yet man to haue.
Both man and woman then was she:
nay that agen may no wayes be.
I haue already proued this,
that she ne man nor woman is.
A goddesse then neades must she be,
or els a new Minerua she:
And though she be a Lady bright,
yet hath she hart and manly might.
Yet Pallas crueltie is knowen,
eak vice of gods abroad is blowen.
Wherefore of force we must suppose,
that this same Tomb doth here inclose
Such one as euery state did staine:
men, women, gods aloft that raigne.

Written vppon the graue of Anton. Prat. (chefe Chaunceler of Fravnce) which was a grosse great Gorbely.

A Great Man here engraued lyes.

Of Titus Liuius.

For Liuie late a Tombe I gan ordaine,
what meanest thou Apollo said, refraine:
Such maner things become the dead (quoth he)
but Liuie liues, and still aliue shalbe.

To Cl. Marotus.

Apelles learned hand, so fine
did paint fair Venus Queene:
That euery one susposd that he,
had Venus vewd and seen.
But workes of thine Marotus lewd,
of Venus sauour so:
That euery one sure deemes, that thou
dost all of Venus know.

A present to Truchius and Dampetrus.

Firme fast vnfained faithfull frends,
haue vsd (and vse alway)
Eache one the other to present
with guifts on Newyeares day.
A Custome Laudable it is,
at euery newyeres tyde
Old loue with guifts for to renew,
that frendship fast may byde.
Now sith my Truchius trustie true
thou takst me for thy frend:
And sith my dere Dampetrus eke
his likyng me doth Lend.
(Accordyng vnto auncient guise)
I send vnto you here
A present small: and what though small?
yet fit it shall appeare.
You both are Poets: to you both
I verses sende to vew:
I verses send in token of
the loue I bear to you.
Pure loue hath linkt you both in one,
and sith you ioyned be:
One guift to send vnto you both,
it seemed best to mee.

Description of vertue.

What one art yu thus in torne weed yclad?
Uertue, in price of auncient sages had:
Why poorely raid? for fadyng goods past care:
why doble faast? I mark ech fortunes fare.
This bridle what? minds rages to restraine,
tooles why beer you? I loue to take great paine.
Why wings? I teach aboue ye starres to flye,
why tread you death? I onely cannot dye.

Against a maidenly man.

For to be married yesterdaie,
To Churche a gallaunt ietted gaie:
His crisped locks wavde all behinde,
His tongue did lispe, his visage shinde.
His rouyng eyes rolde to and fro,
He fiskyng fine did mincyng go:
His lippes all painted semed sweete:
When as the Priest came them to meete,
(A pleasaunt scouse, though nought of life)
He askt of bothe whiche was the wife?

Of a Painter, and a Baker.

A Painter and a Baker strivde,
whiche should the other passe
To paint or bake, twixt them to iudge,
A Priest ordained was.
The Painter spake (quoth he) what so
the hugy worlde containes,
Or what so Nature woorkes, is wrought
by Painters arte and paines.
(Quoth Baker) this is more then that,
Christ whiche the worlde did frame
The Baker formes in figure fine,
that all maie see the same.
Quoth Painter then, thou makest Christs,
mennes bellies for to fill:
Thy Christes are chrusht wt crasshing teeth,
my woorke continues still.
Quoth Baker then, what thou doest paint,
doeth no man good in deede:
What we doe forme it serues as foode,
the hungrie soule to feede.
Quoth Painter, Bakers bake their Gods,
mennes bellies for to fill:
Quoth Baker Painters paint their Gods,
for Wormes to gnawe and spill.
Then quoth the Iudge, ho holla here,
sufficient for this tyme:
About this waightie thyng to braule,
is sure an hainous crime.
Bothe to your houses now departe,
and still in peace agree:
And Painter paint, and Baker bake,
your gods to bryng to me.

A sportfull comparison, betwene Poets and Papists.

Lo here the cause to Francis, why
Homerus I compare:
Lo here the cause wherefore I thinke,
that Monkes like Poets are.
Franciscus could not see one whit,
and Homer he was blinde:
Homerus he was blinde of sight,
Franciscus blinde of minde.
Franciscus was a begger bare,
no bigger Homer was:
Bare beggers bothe, their tyme thei did
in merrie syngyng passe.
Franciscus filde the worlde with lyes,
lyes likewise Homer taught:
Franciscus by his bretheren,
Homer by bookes he wraught.
In secret woods and glomie groues,
first Poets led their liues:
In dampishe dennes and desarts ded,
Monks livde without their wiues.
Eche toune with Munkes was pestered,
when woods at last thei left:
With Poets euery cittie swarmde,
thei could not thence be reft.
Still Poets syng: and moppinne Munkes,
syng likewise daie and night:
And none so muche as thei them selues,
doe in their songes delight.
Eche Poet hath his wanton wenche,
to dandle all the daie:
For feare of failyng euery Munke,
hath fowre to kepe hym plaie.
The Poet laudes (and likes of life)
full cuppes whiche flowe and swym:
The Munke if he his licker lacke,
all goes not well with hym.
The Poet with his luryng Lute,
his Sonets syngeth shrill:
The Monke with pot fast by his side,
his carroles chaunteth still.
With diuers Furies bothe are vext:
the Poet beares a speare
With Iuie deckt: the maskyng Munke
a golden crosse doeth beare.
The Poets croune is drest with Baies,
and mirttle braunches braue:
White shinyng shitten shauen crounes,
the Popishe prelats haue.
For sine, to Munke giue Poetrie,
to Poet giue the whood:
And so thou shalt make bothe of them,
right Munkes, and Poets good.

Against stepdames.

A striplyng went with scourge in hande,
Whereas the portrature did stande
Of stepdame his: in rage anone
He fell to beatyng of the stone.
The stone downe on hym tattereth,
And vnto death hym battereth:
Thou sonne in lawe take hede, and see
To stepdame thyne, though dead she bee.

An Epitaphe vpon the death of Ihon Caluin, poorely and plainly enterred at Geneua.

The terrour of the Romishe route,
doeth lye engraued here:
Whose losse all good men waile, of whom
the wicked stoode in feare.
Of whom euen Vertue fayre her self,
might vertue learne: now why
So grosly gravde doest reader aske
doeth learned Calvin lye?
While Caluin liude, dame Modestie
did hym associate still:
And she her self here placed hym,
when Death did Caluin kill.
O blessed graue that doest enclose,
a guest so godlie graue:
Thou doest surpasse the Marble toumbs
and kynges sepulchers braue.

Againe vppon the death of Ihon Caluin

While Caluin thou didst liue, aliue
I likewise lovd to be:
Ay me how I could like of life,
to leaue now life with thee.
My life I lothe, and yet I loue
to liue, alone for this:
That I may weep and waill for thee,
whom I so sore do misse.
Ah Beza liue to wepe and waile,
to wepe and waile at full
Caluinus Death, ah farewel frend,
Adue, now ded and dull.
Untill in sweet Celestiall cost,
we bothe shall meet againe
In teares, in teen, in mourning mone,
shall dolefull Beze remaine.

Martino Luthero, antichristi Romani domitori Trophæum.

Rome conquerd all the world, and Rome
the Pope did conquer quight:
Rome conquerd al by frollick force,
the Pope by subtile slight.
But Lerned Luther Champion stoute,
how far doth he both twayn
Surmount, who with his seely pen
to yeld doth both constraine.
Now go to Greece, brag til thou burst
of stout Alcides thine:
Naught is his battering club, compard
to Luthers pen deuine.