Eglogs epytaphes, and sonettes. Newly written by Barnabe Googe: 1563. 15. Marche

¶To M. Edwarde Cobham.

OLde Socrates, whose wysdome dyd excell, And past the reache, of wysest in his tyme,

Surmounted all, that on the earth dyd dwell, That Craggye Hyls, of vertue hye dyd clyme, That Socrates, my Cobham dyd allowe, Eche man in youth, hym selfe in Glasse to vew, And wyld them oft, to vse the same, but how? Not to delyght, in forme of fadyng hew. Nor to be proude therof, as many be, But for to stryue, by beautie of the mynde, For to adourne, the beautie he doth se. If warlyke forme, Dame Nature hym assygnde, By vertuous lyfe, than coūtenaūce for to get, That shall deface, the fayrest of them all,

Suche Beautie as no age nor yeares wyll fret: That flyes with fame, whan fyckle forme doth fayle, Thus muche I saye, that here to the present, My wordes a Glasse for the to looke vpon. To the whom God, in tender yeares hath lent, A towardenes, that maye be mused vpon, Suche towardenes, as in more grauer yeares, Doth sure a hope, of greater thyngs pretende, Thy noble mynde, that to thy frendes appeare, Doth showe the blud, wherof thou doste descende, The gentlenes, thou vsest vnto all suche, As smallye haue deserued good wyll of the,

Doth showe the grace, thou hast that sure is muche, As euer yet, in any I dyd se, Thy wyt as rype, as Nature well can gyue, Declares a grea∣ter hope than all the rest, That shall remayne, to the whilst thou doste lyue, In desperate yls, a Medycyne euer prest. The good behauyour, of thy selfe in place Whersoeuer that thou chauncest for to lyght, So much both beautie, mynde and wyt doth grace As well can be requyred of any wyght. What resteth now? but onely God to prayse, Of whom thou hast receaued these Gyftes of thyns,

So shalt thou long, lyue heare with happye dayes, And after Death, the starrye Skyes shalt clyme, Let noughtye men, saye what they lyst to the, Trade thou thy selfe, in seruyng hym aboue, No sweter ser∣uyce can deuysed be, Whom yf thou fearst, and faythfully doste loue, Be sure no thyng, on earth shall the annoye, Be sure he wyll, the from eche harme defende, Be sure thou shalt, long tyme thy lyfe enioye, And after ma∣ny yeares to haue a blessed ende.

¶Finis.