An Epitaph On the Death of the late most reuerend Father in God, Iohn by his prouidence the Arch-Byshop of Canterburie his Grace. &c. Made to runne vpon the letters of his Names and Tytles &c. His Grace deceased at Lambeth in the yeere of his age 72. Februarie 29. 1603. And his Funerall rightes were kept at Croyden the 27. of March following. 1604 [by John Rhodes] |
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 | An Epitaph On the Death of the late most reuerend Father in God, Iohn |  |
A Flovver for the day.
I see that Death dares seaze on Po-ten-tates,On Kinges, on Byshop; and oh all estates:
How shall we maruell then, that this graue man,
Now on the suddaine is thus dead and gon?
Iohn was his Christen name, most men do know,
Iohn signifies Gods grace, mercie, and so:
Iohn was the first Fore-runner vnto Christ,
Iohn an Apostle was to the most High'st:
Some way we might report thus of his Grace,
Who preacht and rulde, as best became his place.
Well then, we see what our great sinnes haue done,
How God still frownes on euery mothers sonne,
In taking Queene, and sending Plagues withall:
Thousands did die, which bred our griefe and thall:
Enforst with griefe, for this mans death, I say,
God helpe the Clergie; for whose good I pray:
If many such should die, where should we finde,
For his poore Church, a man so well inclinde:
To speake the trueth, hardly comes such in place,
Except Gods ayde; therefore hard is their case.
White-gift our Delium Pearle, or Sun-shine bright,
Virgin-like Piller, and Starre shining light:
Is now Interred, and his soule at rest
Among the Sainctes, that are already blest:
There to expect the Resurrection day,
When all th'elect shall liue with God for aye.
Hast-ned his death, and did impaire his health:
Euen so it doth all great men in the Land.
Yet this all persons will not vnderstand.
Ah woe is vs, for thee; who can but moane,
Repent thy losse and lacke, now thou art gone:
Come mournefull Muses, and Musitions eke,
Helpe with your tunes, Set dryrie doulfull lyke:
Bring vs your Shackbuts that will rent the ground,
Your Citters & Bandoras, with their siluer sound:
Sweete voyced Cliopæ sing to our Vearse,
Helpe vs this day about his Sable Hearse.
O England, let thy plaintes likewise appeare,
Powre out thy sobs for this our friend most deare:
Ecchous resounding voyce in thee let ring,
For th'Arch-byshops death, which is our hartes deepe sting.
Arch-Byshop Yorke, and Byshops of each See:
Arch-Deacons, Deanes, and Prebends in degree:
Churches Cathedrall, Quires of Boyes and Men,
Keepe you this Funerall both with tongue and pen.
Organistes all, on soft stops giue the Kay,
And let Subchaunter keepe good time all way:
Maisters of Children, Vergers all attende,
Keepe a Decoram till the Herralds ende.
Oh that our heades had Hieremy his teares,
Fountaines might then flow many months & yeares
Crying for him that quaild Church Robbers still,
And did defeate Dioniz'ous or his will.
Nabals & Newtors, they the Church would nursse,
Thewdas and Iudas they would beare the Pursse:
Right so did these; whom White-gift did withstand.
Blessed King Iames, helpe now in this, and flourish,
Eise Learning, which doth true Relig'on nourish;
Reuolters will destroy, and thee withall:
Yea, bring in Barbarisme, if we fall.
Come Canterbery; lat vs weepe with thee,
For thou shalt misse White-gift, as well as wee.
Clad all our Quire and Church with blacke throughout,
Let Cittie, Walles, and Streetes be hung about:
Kent with her wealth, can not giue Blackes to all,
That would be Mourners at this Fu-ne-rall.
Heare mee: his Grace wrongd no man withgood will,
In all his wayes he shund the Pathes of ill:
Such as disturbd the Church, he did assay,
Godly to win, and leade on other way.
Reu'rent he was, milde, gentle, and discreete,
Affable, wise and sober, as was meete:
Certaine it is, mine eares did heare it plaine,
Enuie, that would him dead, wisht him againe.
His Grace was gratious vnto euery one,
Especially to Ministers, when they made moane.
His Grace won grace with men of each degree,
In Court and Country, all the world did see.
Gracelesse are they, that will my wordes controule,
Carcelesse of credite, body, life, and soule.
More might be sayd of him, if Time gaue leaue
Each man to please, but Time doth me bereaue
The Vniuerseties, can speake of him,
Report his life, and how he hated sinne.
Powre out your plaintes, & sing this song with mee:
O Colledge faire, that men cals Trin-ne-tie,
Looke on thy losse, and lacke of such an cie.
It is well knowne, what paines of late he tooke,
Touching the Cleargie, and Communion Booke:
And how he shewd our King the ready way,
Now to prouide for Church, and Schollers stay.
Most reuerend Fathers, follow you this thing,
GOD is with you, and so is IAMES our King:
What though Lay-men would swallow you, and all,
Yet stand you fast, and then their prides will fall:
Meete Metropol'tans you may grow in time,
Still to keepe out the Wilde-Boore from this Vine:
Foxes and all, you shall driue hence at last:
Now is the time, there is no good time past.
Intreate and sue, that no Land goe Tyth free,
And that Tyth Statutes may explayned bee:
Seeke that the Cleargie be not wronged still
By euery vpstart, that would haue his will.
O carefull Croyden, now to thee I speake,
For thine and Lambeths losse, our harts will breake.
Ah! Who shall do as White-gift did for you?
Lay vp and build Schoole and Alms houses too?
Lord I know none, such Blacke Swans are too rare.
Each man is bent to Au, rice euery where,
None but the Lord, can set such men in place,
Gladly to pitty the poore man and his case:
Let White-giftes worke, that stands thus in the eye,
On each Arch-Byshop for like worke still cry:
Dayly increase their Basket and their store.
Of all Arch-Byshops that for Trueth yet stood,
White-gift and Mathew Parker did most good:
As of all England therefore they had charge,
So in all England they did good at large.
England hath great cause both to laugh and weepe,
Laugh for our King, and Triumphes that we keepe:
Wayle for our sinnes in Court and Country too,
Moorne for this Man, and walke as moorners doe.
See how this yeeres minde of late Q. comes in,
Th'Aarch-Byshops Fun'rall doth the same begin:
God graunt we haue no moe such doulefull yeeres,
That should thus threaten death of Prince or Peeres.
No English Chronicle doth make relation,
Of such euentes, beyond all exspectation.
Feare God therefore, and do well to thy powre,
In euery thing prepare for dying howre:
Neuer presume vpon thy strength or youth:
In any wise depende on God and Trueth:
So shalt thou come to heauenly ioyes at last,
Ioyfully leauing life, and pleasures past,
Rest so, and pray for King and Kingdomes all:
Christ then will blesse, & keepe thee still from thrall
Finis this world, and worldly thinges we know,
Finis therefore our liues, when we must goe:
Finis the teares that doth run downe mens eyes,
For White-giftes death, sith they can not suffize.
Finis this Worke, and Epitaph of mine,
Which to mens Charities I now resigne.
Of Sinne and Death, for all his chosen sake:
Infinite then, shalbe the mirth and ioy,
That we shall haue with him in that great day
Vnto which ioyes, soone bring vs all O Lord,
And keepe vs alwayes, steadfast in thy Word
In euery thing, looke well vnto the ende,
Remember Death, and feare still to offende:
Count all thinges vaine, vnto Eter-ne-tie,
Liue well, and thou shalt liue Eternalie.
Amen.
Short life by breath, the Learned still do say,
Long life by Death; if we go the right way.
Long life by Death; if we go the right way.
FINIS.
| An Epitaph On the Death of the late most reuerend Father in God, Iohn | |