A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures Gallantly garnished, with goodly Galleries of strang inuentio[n]s and prudently polished, with sundry pleasant Posies, & other fine fancies of dainty deuices, and rare delightes. Written by a student in Ca[m]bridge. And published by I. C. Gent |
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An Epitaph on the death of M. Sharpe, of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge.
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 | A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures |  |
An Epitaph on the death of M. Sharpe, of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge.
If
wailyng would preuaile, if wo would vaunt at will,
Or if the furies three, were linked all in one:
To helpe them for to mone, whose greefe haue banisht skill,
Then happy were the case, of him which made this mone.
But sith the penūue hart, may linger where it lye,
And sith the dolefull doome, will not release the hue:
While that I leade my life, I will not cease to cry,
And waile with them which say, my owne good Sharpe adue.
Or if the furies three, were linked all in one:
To helpe them for to mone, whose greefe haue banisht skill,
Then happy were the case, of him which made this mone.
But sith the penūue hart, may linger where it lye,
And sith the dolefull doome, will not release the hue:
While that I leade my life, I will not cease to cry,
And waile with them which say, my owne good Sharpe adue.
And waile with them which say, my owne good Sharpe adew,
Adew farewell, adew vnto thy clampe of clay:
Whom when thy breath forsooke, to that which should insew,
A proofe deseruing life most glorious for aye,
No panges which wicked feare, could breake thy hart in sunder,
But stedfast in thy trust, Christ Iesus was thy stocke:
To whom in all thy woe (which caused the wicked wonder,)
Thou only calest for ayde, to him which was thy rocke.
Adew farewell, adew vnto thy clampe of clay:
Whom when thy breath forsooke, to that which should insew,
A proofe deseruing life most glorious for aye,
No panges which wicked feare, could breake thy hart in sunder,
But stedfast in thy trust, Christ Iesus was thy stocke:
To whom in all thy woe (which caused the wicked wonder,)
Thou only calest for ayde, to him which was thy rocke.
Thou only callest to him for ayde, which was thy rocke,
To whom thou yeeldest life, hoping for sweeter gaine:
Whose vse is not disceite, the faithfull for to mocke,
Rewarding iust with life, the wicked with their paine.
The foolish liue in sinne, the wicked asketh woe,
Their woe is burning fier, whose flame shall euer last,
Then happy maist thou bee which passed thy time so:
Whom tempestes could not shake, nor billowes make agast,
To whom thou yeeldest life, hoping for sweeter gaine:
Whose vse is not disceite, the faithfull for to mocke,
Rewarding iust with life, the wicked with their paine.
The foolish liue in sinne, the wicked asketh woe,
Their woe is burning fier, whose flame shall euer last,
Then happy maist thou bee which passed thy time so:
Whom tempestes could not shake, nor billowes make agast,
Whom tempestes could not shake, nor billowes make agast,
Such was thy faithfull trust, such was thy trusty faith:
That what soeuer affliction his silly corpes did taste,
Lord Iesus, come, assist mee, yet often times hee sayth:
And yeelded vp the ghost, to him which framed all,
When as few yeares were run, such was his fatall lot:
And after carefull study, this to him did befall,
Who for his life once lost, a double life hath got.
Such was thy faithfull trust, such was thy trusty faith:
That what soeuer affliction his silly corpes did taste,
Lord Iesus, come, assist mee, yet often times hee sayth:
And yeelded vp the ghost, to him which framed all,
When as few yeares were run, such was his fatall lot:
And after carefull study, this to him did befall,
Who for his life once lost, a double life hath got.
Who for his life once lost, a double life hath got,
The one in hawty skyes, his spirit doth inioy:
The other here in fame, the which nothing can spot,
Which Momus can not breake, nor Zoylus destroy.
Then sith it hapneth so, and sith our Sharpe doth liue,
And sith hee doth enioy, a life which last for aye:
Great cause haue wee, great praise, to mighty loue to giue,
And to our Sharpe farewell, ten thousand times to say.
The one in hawty skyes, his spirit doth inioy:
The other here in fame, the which nothing can spot,
Which Momus can not breake, nor Zoylus destroy.
Then sith it hapneth so, and sith our Sharpe doth liue,
And sith hee doth enioy, a life which last for aye:
Great cause haue wee, great praise, to mighty loue to giue,
And to our Sharpe farewell, ten thousand times to say.
| A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | |