Churchyards challenge

THE EARLE OF MVRTONS Tragedie, once Regent of Scotland, and alwaies of great birth, great wisedome, great wealth, and verie great power and credite: yet Fortune enuying his e∣state and noblenes, brought him to lose his head on a Skaffold in Edenbrough the second of Iune. 1581.

MAke place for plaints, giue rowme for plagued men, Step backe proud mindes, that praise your selues too much, Let me appeale, to some true writers pen: That doth the life, and death of Princes touch. For my mi••hap, and fatall fall is such, That gazing world, which heares my woefull end, Shall maruaile much, to see such matter pend.

The restles race, that mortall men doe runne, Seemes smooth to sight, yet full of scratting breers: Here is no rest, nor surety vnder Sunne. Sowre is the taste, of flowers that sweete appeares, Our gentle ioyes, are in our tender yeares, For as the Childe, to wit and reason growes, So iudgement comes, and seedes of sorrow sowes.

Our wanton time, doth steale away with sport, But when that care, hath crept in curious braines: Long griefe beginnes, and pleasure is but short, For heart and head, is vert with fancies vaine, Then hord brings hate, and gold breeds greedy gaine.

Desire of which, with pompe and glory great, So boiles in brest, it makes mans browes to sweat.

Ambitious minde, the busie bellowes blowes, The quenchles coales, of R••le that burneth still, And ore the banks, the flouds of folly flowes: And priuate wealth, ••o blindes a worldlings will: That wicked wit, doth banish reasons skill, Climes vp aloft, cries fame and rare renowne, Till heauy stone, from top comes tottering downe.

The mounting heart, that daily doth aspire, With wilfull wings, of pride to cloudes would flie: And though he feeles, his feathers singd with fire: He will not stoupe, he holdes his head so hie, To beare a sway, and alwaies casts his eie, (With eager lookes) on honors stately throne: He likes no mate, but all would weld alone.

The simple sort, that sées soore Fawcon rise, Disdains to death, the bird that flies too farre: Then as on owle, flocks, crowes and chatring pies, So at great dogs, the little tikes doe snarre. Tweene small and great, when spite ••nes moues the warre, There is no rest, for rage runnes all on head, Hate kindleth fire, and loue growes cold as lead.

A greater strife, is when two tides doe méete, Both of one force, like mighty strugling streames, I meane when men, doe striue of equall sprite: The robe is ript, or rented through the seames: Great troubles grow, in sundry ciuill Realmes, For whilst the one, in chiefest rowme is plaste. The other comes, and hales him downe in hast.

There is no meane, where matches meete at shocke, The strong shewes strength, the stout stands wrangling still, About the ball, the finest fellowes flocke, They winne the goale, that hath the greatest skill. The force of floud, turns round the Water-mill. So where two men, doe wrastle for a fall, Most might preuailes, the weake is turnde to wall.

But why do I, finde fault with greatest band, My traine was such, as I a King had beene: In Court and Towne, Earle Murton was so mand. As euery day, I had a world to winne, That was the frette, that did the warre beginne. For those that sawe, me waited on so well, Did skorne the same, and so like toades they swell

At my renowne, and loe a greater thing, By chaunce befell, for I had secret foes: (That daily sought) my fall about the King. And as on steps, to stately stage I rose, So my decay, in Court and countrey growes. For priuy hate, and malice matchth with might, Tooke out the oyle, that gaue my lampe the light.

Yet through great helpe, and friends as world may wéene, Whose wisdoms was, wel known both graue & sage: I regent was, when many a broile was gréene: And set abroach, in Court by reuels rage, I ruled all, whilst King was vnder age, And where I saw, the people make offence, I scowrgd them sore, which kept them quiet sence.

Some did I hang, and trust them vp on hye, That slaughters made, or murders did committe: Some were redeemde, that did for fauour crie,

And strongest heads, I helde in hard with bitts. With equall eares, I would in iudgement sit. Yea bent my braine, to beate out right and wrong, And conscience bad, deferre not iustice long.

The rich by this, were sory to offend, The poore did dread, to hang that faulty were, And yet oft times, when faulters did amend, I hangd but one, to bring the rest in feare. To suters all, I gaue a gracious eare, By gentle waies, and wisdomes modest meane, From filthy facts, I cleansed Countrey cleane.

By order good, I made them feare the law, I pincht the purse, and pawsde in sheading blood, I punisht sore, where great abuse I saw, Straight rules I sette, to learne rude people good. By which strong staies, my state in surety stood. So wealth came in, with goodly gold and geare, That paide for paines, and did the charges beare.

Yea sure more wealth, and riches I possest, Then twenty Lords, of Scotland any way: I might compare (for treasure) with the best. We call it Poess, in our plaine Scottish lay, I had the bags, of Aungell nobles gay. I had the chests, fild vp vnto the brim, With sondry stamps, of coine and treasure trim.

My houses stood, in gladsom soiles and s••ats, Stuft with rich things, and Arras clothes ••now: My table spread, with deare and dainty meates. My ward robe storde, with change of garments throw, My corne in stacks, my hay in many a mowe, My stable great, of gallant goldings good.

And I like Prince, amidst these pleasures stood••.

What I would wish, I had with glorie great, Each knée did bow, and make their bodies bend: Each: eye stood fixt, to gase on honors seat, Eache friendlie face, a louing looke would send. To stately throne, and I againe would lend A Lordlie grace, to kéepe the worlds good will, Whereby encreast, my fame and honor still.

I buy••t me bowers, sometime to banquet in, Made plotts for walkes, and gardens of delight: Sought swéete conceits, (not fowsing soule in sinne,) With glutted gorge, at pleasures baite to bite. But pastime tooke, to put off worlds despite. My streamers stoode, in topp of barke so braue, That flaggs of ioy, with each good wind wold waue.

For worldly pompe, and worship waites at héele, Where rule and power, sets out gay glittring showes, Who folowes not, the swinge of fortunes wheele, What fish forsakes, the floode that daily flowes. Both great and small, with course of water goes. Where sunne doth shine, both beast & birdes repaire, And what flies not, to pleasaunt weather faire.

But well away, when we haue all we wish, A house, a home, bedect with gallaunt grace: A golden net, beguiles a carlesse fish▪ Wee haue no holde, of fortunes flittering face. For when wee doe, worldes flattring giftes embrace, Wee groope and gape, for more vaine goodes so fast: That gracelesse hap, sweepes all away at last.

Our gréedy mind, gaines gold and tyens good name,

Winnes wealth yet workes, a wicked web of woe: Breedes déepe disdaine, and bringes a man in blame. Breakes bandes of loue, makes friend become a foe. Shutes spitefull shaftes, from malice sturdie bowe, Strikes dead good name, & reares vp slaunders brute, Sowes seedes of vice, and brings foorth rotten fruite.

All these de••e••s, doth follow gréedie minde, But loe my skill, and sight in publicke state: For soaking soores, a soueraigne salue could finde, For where I fearde, sharpe warres & foule debate▪ To cut off strife, great friendes at hand I gat, And by my wit, to kéepe the King in right, At my commaund, I fréelie brought much might.

Which strake the stroke, and stoutly rulde the roste, Spent many dayes, in broyles and making peace: Bestowde great charge, and carde not for no coste, So that they could our common quarrels seace. And euer as, I sawe our brawles encreace, I helpt the harmes, by worthy wisdomes arte, So planted peace, & rule in euery part.

For euery years, some brawle was set abroche, Some treason wrought, some trecherie tane in hand: Which without stay, would sounde to my reproche, Such falshood raignde, and raged in the land. In factions still, did runne a bloodie bande, About the Realme, as wilde as wolues for praye, But by my friendes, I set these thinges in s••aye.

In greatest stormes, I stoutly stood to sterne, And turnd about, the shippe to winne the winde: And what defects, and fau••tes I did discerne, I readie was, a quicke redresse to finde.

And no man durst, restraine the Regents minde, For were it good, or bad I would haue done, Unto that side, would most of people runne.

Yet murmors rose, among the mighty flocke, Whose hidden hate, huggd close in cankred brest: To vndermine, my strong and statelie rocke, That stoode on propps, and did on pillers cest. For longer sure, in Court I could not rest, Then King might come, to perfect age and yeares, As thinges besell, and by my fall appeares.

The secret swarmes, of ••lie and subtill snakes, That lurkes in grasse, and vnder fayrest flowers: The flattering cloudes, that oft faire weather makes, Great showers of raine, vppon the people powers. The smiling face, that when it list it lowers. Betraies the eyes, of them that well beleeues, When scorners flier, and laugheth in their sléeues.

My hedge stood stackte, with such weake sticks of woode, That manie a gappe, was made into my grownde: I trusted much, to freindship, birth, and blood, But some of those, in fine were faythlesse founde. Most spake mee faire, but least of them were sounde. Some sought my ruyne, that waighted hard at heeles. For time so shapt, the world went all on wheeles.

What is enuid, but rule and high estate. The seruant seekes, of•• times his maysters fall: The subiect beares, to lawe a priuie hate, The stubborne child, is silde at fathers call. The froward wiues, findes fault with husbands all. The scholler hates, to heare his follie tolde, And each degree, abhors to be controlde.

Rule wants no foes, the horse hée hates the bitt. The dogge disdaines, the leashe that holdes him in: The hauke desires, not long on pearch to sit, Rule is despisde, Rule doth no fauour winne. The man that hath, in courtly honor béene. Can tell how oft, he was with flattry fed, And some there are, with blinde affection led.

Whose humor weake, the wil••e worldlings fede, They followe fast, and fawn•• like whelpes a while: Till great mens meanes, hath ••erued their turne in déede, Then gallants goe, awaye and giue a smile. Thus wa••ters on, doe nought but friends beguile. And slipper lads, as false and fine as those, For no offence, become most mortall foes.

With curtsie great, and knéeling on the knée, The harmelesse hartes, of noble states are trapte: They looke so high, they can no tromperie see, Untill the ••lye, in spiders webbe be lapt. And when by sleight, the simple is mishapt. The wandring world, but maruels at the case, And from the weake, the strongest turnes the face.

Who had moe freindes, or yet more wealth than I, Who sounde lesse helpe, O fie on friendships trust: My stocke and race, did reach to starrie skie, Yet world trode downe, mine honor in the dust. And I was left, alone thinke what I lust. Weepe sigh or sob, when Fortune gaue checkmate, Fer•••• friends were fledd, and I in wofull state.

Yet wisdomes grace, helde vp my noble minde. I scornde to thinke, when sorest tempests blewe: In face and cheere, my courage men might finde,

I counted all, and then the worst I knew, It was but death, (a paiment that is due:) To yeild to day, or else when date drew néere To paie the shot, and make the reckning cléere.

What néeds more talke, amid my chéefest ioyes, A draught was drawne, to driue me out of grace: The newes whereof, did fill my head with toyes, But my stout hart, would giue no practise place. I stifly stoode, in Court with manly face. And thought to thrust, them out that stroue with mée. And so in spigt, of world I would goe frée.

Great banding then, began in Borough towne, And to the view, I had the strongest side: For on my part, were men of great renowne. Yea, as the fish, doth follow greatest tide: So people swarmd, and crucifige cryed. On Mortons foes, for dayly eurye houre: In Princes Court, with pompe increast my power.

But when wée met, that seuerall waies did draw, Sweete words did walke, bespyest with fained cheere: In dulcet shell, a kernell sowre, I sawe, That cunning crafte, by cloude conuayd full cléere. Our powdred speach, most fresh, would still appéere. Till bitter taste, bewrayd our meanings all: Then honie combe, in proofe became but gall.

So angrie bées, burst forth from quiet hiue, And offred stinge, to those that neerest stood: Then fearefull folke, too féeble were to striue, They floke so fast, that daily sought my bloode. Yet to the worlde, I made my quarell good, And craude no more, but iustice in my cause:

And so to shifte, by course of common lawes.

In open Court, I was accused streight, And straightlie chargde, to keepe my chamber still: Where if I had, but vsed anie sleight, I might haue scapte, awaie and had my will. But destnie did, bewitch both wit and skill. And robd mee so, of spirite and feeling sence: That I was méeke, and neuer made defence.

But what I thought, and what I hepte for both, Is knowne to God, and some that liueth yet: In deede my feare, was small (I tell you trothe,) For manie things, in compasse of my wit, Did cleare mee cleane, and so though I should sit. In prison faste, a time till thinges were tryed: In duraunce long, I hopte I should not bide.

But loe in haste, I was from thence remoude, And sent vnto, the Castle there to staie: And then perchaunce, I was but finely proude, To see for feare, if I would flie awaie. For mine owne folkes, had there the whole conuaie. (Of bodie through, the streetes) such grace I gote, But woe is me, for then did th'old man doate.

Had I but sayde, I would not be in pounde, (I would bee franke, and free from daungers doubt: I might haue turnde, the worlde in Scotland rounde, Like te••nis ball, and thrust myne enemies out. But who can bring a sternlesse barke aboute. My wits were gone, that guided all before, My shipp on ground, and I was set on shore.

Loe, what God doth, to make his glorie knowne,

Loe, how mans life, is cut off like a bough: Loe, lookers on, how sone is man oerthrowne, Loe, where became, my worldly wisdome nowe. Loe héere a glasse, that shewes your faces throughe. You greatest Peeres, and Lords of péereles prayse, Your pride is past, if God abridge your daies.

No sooner I, beléeude I was so well, But was conuayde, vnto Don Bartyn than: So all my friends, (that did in Scotlande dwell, Made sure a shew, to raise vp manie a man. The King straight waies, before these broyles began, Fiue ensignes chose, to kéepe the world in awe: For sure defence, of him and of his lawe.

Those bandes held backe, some forward busines strange, Yet in good faith, my friendes were twise as strong: The force of whom, made worlde to feare a change, But on and of, alas they dalied longe. And all the while, I thought they did me wronge. Yet vaine it was, in armes to stande and striue: For they had not, that waye found me aliue.

Long was the talke, of manie a farlye thoe, Long did I looke, for that which did not come: But all those blasts, in sine did ouerbloe, I listned long, to heere the sound of drumme. Yet though I had, the great good will of some. God would not th••ell, for one mans sake alone: That broyles should cause, a million make their mone.

When birde is limde, farewell faire feathers all, The fish in net, maie bidde the sea adiew: When world beholds, a man is neere his fall, It leaues him there, and follows fancies newe.

When all is saide, the olde prouerbe is true. Who cannot swimme, must sincke there is no boote: Who hath no horse, of force must goe on foote.

Thus ••yed to clogge, and pende in prison fast, My hope decaide, my hart did heauie waxe: So souldiers came, and brought me foorth at last, The butcher then, began to wh••t his axe, All was on flame, the fire was flowne in flaxe. There was no choise, I must a size abide: Prooue foule or cleane, and by my Peeres be tried.

To Edenbrough, the captiue man was brought, Along the fieldes, where flockes of people were: The sight of whom, did trouble much my thought, But when in deede, I was ariued there, Both streetes and stalles▪ and windows euery where, Were stuffed full, to giue on me the gaze: But that might not my manly mind amaze.

Yet neither one, nor other, small nor great, Did me salute, So turnde the moodes of men: That colde deuice, (nay rather raging heate) Could not appall; my princely courage then. For I did looke, as I did nothing ken. Yet knew the whole, that some in secret bore: So passed through, the thronge, what would ye more.

A russet cloake, (a garment rude and bare, For such a state: make what of mee they would: With foule felt hat, and robes but base I ware, That people might▪ my great disgrace beholde. Alas poore lambe, thy life was bought and soulde. No force of weedes, to couer clott of claye, Morton was dead, full longe before that daie.

Now Lawyers flockte, and swarmde in ilke a place, Now Lords repaird, and Lardes came daily in: Now learned heads, did long debate my case, Now did (in deed) my sorrowes all beginne, Now was the time, that I must lose or winne, For I appeard, before the iudgement seate, And there maintainde, my right with reasons great.

Made good defence, to many matters sure, Spake boldly still, and did but iustice craue: My pleading there, did foure long houres endure, And Lawyers then, to me good leasure gaue, But to what end, did I long pleading haue, I was condemnd, the world would haue it so, A thing there was, but that the Lord doth know.

And I that héere, confesse my former gylt, A murther than, was laide vnto my charge: Which I concealde, yet saw a Kings bloud spilt▪ A fowle offence, for which there is no targe: Nor could not claime, therefore to goe at large: But byed the sence, and censure of the lawes, For fowle (God wot) and filthy was my cause.

The iudgement was, a heauy thing to héere, But what they did, I could not call againe: The sentence past, too late my selfe to cleere, Once iudgd to die, condemnd I must remaine. As silly shéepe, in shopp must needes be slaine. Then to the pot, or pit our flesh must passe, All flesh is dust, vaine ashes earth and grasse.

Then thought I on, some friend that absent was, And spoke some words, but ask•• not what they were, So from the bench, to prison did I pas,

And for to die, did make me ready there, The Preachers came, and shed full many a teare, To bring my soule, in perfect patience than, And make me die, a faithfull christian man.

In secrete sort, the Preachers there I told, Great things of waight, that in my conscience lay: And so confest, what right and reason would, But thereon pawsde, I would no further say, Aske what they pleasde, I did but troth bewray. Whereat I knockt, my troubled trembling brest, And so desirde, the Preachers let me rest.

O brethren mine, your doctrine likes me well, (Qd. I) good men, bestow some praiers now. In your beliefe, looke that you daily dwell, As you beganne, so still continue through, The bloud of Christ, hath washt my blotted brow, As white as snow, (I haue no doubt nor feare) Shall be my sinnes, that red as scarlet were.

The Preachers glad, to bring my soule to rest, Brought Scripture in, and did the text vnfold: And many a place, and sentence they exprest, Towardes the death, to make my body bolde, O my good Lord, you may not now behold, The pompe (quoth they) and glory that is past, But you must thinke, on that which aye shall last.

Both wealth and friends, and worldly wisedome to, Are banisht quite, and blush to come in place: When soule goes hence, those things haue nought to doe. With man that is, then newly borne in grace, The light of day, hath darkenes still in chase, The heauenly thoughts, doe hate all earthly things, And faith to clowdes, doth flie with flittring wings.

They praide with me, and wipt their wéeping eies, My heauy sprite, stood troubled sore that tide: And as the sighes, from pan••ing heart did rise, My groaning Ghost, O Abba father cride. The sobs flew forth, the ••eares I could not hide, As babe doth wéepe, when he beholds the rod, So then I feard, the wrath of my good God.

Full soone reformde, I was in godly wise, Gaue ore the world, forgot all earthly thing, Heaud vp my hands, and heart, vnto the skies, To God that did, this plague vppon me bring, And then I sued, and sent vnto the King. To scape the coard, by losse of life and breath, For heading was, for me more Nobler death.

He graunted that, and sad for my mishap, He let me goe, where God and man assignd, Now euery fault, lay open in my lap, Each small offence came freshly to my minde, The secret sinnes, that we in conscience finde, A muster made, and passed for their pay, Before great God, that doth all things bewray.

The wrong I did, to simple people plaine, Bad heart ••orethinke, the fury of mine ire, The gréedy thirst, of glory rule and gaine, Made soule afeard, of hote infernall fire, My selfe I blamde, for fleshly fond desire. But falling thus, full prostrate on my face, From heauens hie, I felt a sparke of grace.

Which warmd my sprites, that waxed faint and cold, The last conflict, that in this life we haue, Then comfort came, and made weake body bold,

Care not for death, for life mounts vp from graue. (Qd. knowledge then) when Christ the soule shall saue. With that I flong, behinde all fearefull dread, So cald for booke, and many a Psalme did reade.

In lesse then halfe, the time that I haue spoke, Me thought I talkt, with God whose face did shine, Who from a cloude, discende as thinne as smoke, And entred in▪ my breast by power diuine, O mortall man (said he) come thou art mine, Be strong and stout, to fight the battell throw, For my right hand, is here to helpe thée now.

Blush not to sée, the raging worlds despite, The bloudy are, nor scaffolde full of bils: My mercy seat, shall be thy chiefe delihte. And though on earth, thine enimies haue their wils, I am the God, that stormes and tempests stils, In quiet calme, passe gently thou away, And suffer much, yet doe but little say.

Death is the end, of all that beareth life, Not one shall scape, this world is but a dreame, The seeds of sinne, brings forth but flowres of strife, In painted robes, lies many a rotten seame, It is but griefe, to guide and rule a Realme: Great charge and care, a great accompt must make, And when I frown, the whole round world I shake.

I cause one wight, to take anothers place, To chop off heads, to kill, to hang and draw: And when I take, from rulers new my grace, His head againe, shall yeeld to sword and law. Men blowes the cole, but I put fire in straw, And where doth fall, the flame of my great ••e,

All things consumes, to cinders in that fire,

Come Murton come, and play thy pageant well, Thou goest before, perhaps a yeare or twaine: But after thee, shall passe to heauen or hell, A number more, that mercy now remaine, World hath no stay, I tell ••hee all is vaine: Both raigne and rule, and regall power most hie, When bastards dreame, in durt and dust shall lie.

My God thus sayd, with that my sprites reuiude, My wits were armde, my sence redoubled than: And with my flesh, the holy Ghost he striude. By Angels force, but not by might of man: A marulous stirre, in stomacke then beganne, For to subdue, the ••arrein corps of care, And burthend breast, that sinfull body bare.

Now hope in hast, made heauy heart full light, The feare was fled, that comes by course of law: Gods promise wrought, (through mercy grace and might, A noble worke in me, cleare conscience saw. A fig for death, his force not worth a straw: (Qd. I) a rush for worlds reproach and shame: For written is, in booke of life my name.

The Preachers then, began to wéepe for ioy, Your firme beliefe, my Lord shall make you frée: (Qd they) and sure, your soule is from annoy, Both in this world, and where swéete Angels be. And where right soone, you shall Gods glory see: Not with bare view, but with immortall eies, As body shall, at latter day arise.

Then knéeld I downe, and to the cloudes I looke,

The thought and care, the while of world was past, And I in God, such ioy and pleasure tooke: That at my héeles, all earthly pompe I cast, By this the houre, of death approached fast. The Gard gaue sign, with halbards bright in hand, I must prepare, on Skaffold streight to stand.

The stréetes were full, of souldiers armed well, With shot and match, and all belongs for warre, I saw in house, I could no lon••er dwell: For people said, the day was spent full farre. Then ope the doore, (qd. I) draw backe the barre, I will goe hence, to better home I trust: Here is no hope, I see, that die I must.

To comfort sence, and strengthen vitall sprete, I tasted foed, and dranke a draught of wine: And pawsde a while, as I thought fit and méete, But sure no dread, of death within mine eine Was seene, for God by speciall grace deuine, Held vp my heart, and head as high to shoe, As when from home, I did a walking goe.

Milde words I gaue, when bitter spéech I hard, So passed through, them all with manly chéere, And did no more, this world nor earth regard, Then though in deede, I neuer had beene here, But when in sight, the Skaffold did appeare, My minde was bent, to fight the battle out: And conquere death, and banish feare and dout.

So stept I vp on Skaffold lightly than, Where sundry came, to aske me many a thing, I lookte to God, and made small count of man. Saue that alowd, I saide God blesse the King.

God giue him grace, in peace the state to bring, And shunne the harmes, and dangers ore his head: To finde on earth, long life when I am dead.

Had I serud God, aswell in euery sort, As I did serue, my king and maister still: My scope had not, this season beene so short, Nor world haue ••ad, the power to doe me ill. But loe, I liude, against my makers will: That feeles my flesh, that feeles my soule alas, That fault I feare, where now my soule shall passe.

That, that good Lord, forgiue, whilst breath I haue, It is the sinne, that to this world I brought: It buried shall, be with my flesh in graue, It is a sore, and sickenesse of the thought. It is most vaine, a wretched thing of nought, A wicked wound, that death doth heale alone, Dwels last in flesh, and first was bred in bone.

Pray you for me, that sets your sinnes by mine, And such as doe, professe the faith I hold: Marke who I am, that here by power diuine, Am forst this daie, my conscience to vnfolde. Looke neerely both, to your owne Faults vntolde, And pray as well, for me with humble minde, As for your selues, that here I leaue behinde.

My matter stands, before the iudge of all, Men haue condemnd, my body to the tort, When that great iudge, will for a reckning call, Both you and I, (shut vp in sentence short,) Shall soone be known, who gaines the best report, There accuse, ne small nor great this day: My part is plaide, and I must passe my way.

The faith this howre that all the Realme doth know, I die in here, and seale it with my blood: To other faith, beware bend not your bowe: The r••tten string, will breake and doe no good, Whilst in this land, such trash a••d tromprie stood, God was not pleasd, the King not serude aright, And we did walke, in darkenes stead of light.

Good ••earers all, my babes and children deere, I brought you vp, full long in this beliefe: Your regent ones, now preacheth to you here, Chaunge not (my barns) religion to your griefe, Serue first your God, next honor King as chiefe, This lesson keepe, and so good friends, adiew: The dead from quicke, so takes his leaue of you.

Thus full resolude, temptation to resist, Great time I stood, and talkte in stoutest shoe, Of sondry things, as freely as I list: But waying then, that hence the soule must goe, And that my necke, must bide the blouddy bloe, I stretched armes, as hie as I could heaue: So turnd my backe, and did the audience leaue.

The heauenly hope that heart doth long vphold, Did hale me hence, and bad dispatch in haste As firme as rocke I stood, say what they would, For after this, I spake no word in waste, Then downe I lay, and balefull blocke embraste. And there receiude, the blow as are did fall: That cut me cleaue, from cares and cumbers all.

The gasping head, as in the Lorde I slept, A vision had, ye may the fame suppose: I dreamde it saw, how friende, & faurers wept,

In heade that tide, a straunger fancie rose, The eyes behelde, before the eyes did close, A writer there, and Churchyard loe he hight: Whose pen paints out, mens tragedies aright.

In deadly dreame, my tongue callde on that man, (As headlesse ••olke, may fumble out a word) You must beleeue, the tongue a tale beganne, Of earnest thinges, and not a trifling borde, Churchyard (quoth he) if now thou canst afforde Mee one good verse, take heere thy penne in hand: And send my death, to thine owne natiue lande.

Which in my life, I loude and honourd much. (A cause there was, let that passe oer with time:) Thou man (I saie,) that didst Shores wife so touch, With louing phrase, and friendlie English rime. When pen & muse▪ (were in chiefe pride and prime, Bestow some paines, on him that was thy friende: Whose life thou knewst, & se••st mee make mine ende.

These wordes pronounst, the head gan bléed anew, My bodie laie, along like lumpe of leade: The limmes stretcht out, & sti••e as stake they grew, And vnder cloath of blacke was made my bedd. On thicke hard boordes, that world might see me dead There did I lodge, till starrs appearde in skye: And goring bloode, had glutted gasers eye.

Thus Churchyard now, in wandring vp & downe, (About affaires, perhaps that toucht him nere:) Saw on Tolbothe, in Edenborough towne, My sencelesse head, before his face appeare. Why Morton then, (quoth he) and art thou héere. That long didst raigne, and rule this Realme of late:

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Then ruine and wracke, oerreacheth each estate.

An Emperors life, puft vp with pompe & pride, Maie not compare, with plaine ploughman (quoth he) The climing foote, is apt to slippe and slide, The studious braine, shall selde in suretie bee, A bitter blast, sone bites the brauest trée. At honors seate, blinde boltes men dailie shoote: And wretched hap, riues vp renowne by roote.

No wit nor wealth, preuailes against mischaunce, Whom fortune hates, the people doe disdaine: As wisdomes grace, doth worthie witts aduaunce, So priuie hate, throwes downe hie harts againe. The whitest clothe, will take the greatest staine. It is not strange, to sée great men to fall, For too much trust, of worlde deceiues vs all.

Why doe wée wish, to weald a world at will, What follows pompe, but hazard of good name: Why would wise men, in pleasure wallow still, The end of toyle, makes soule and bodie tame. They take no rest, that runnes still after fame, Great charge breeds griefe, and brings on care apace: Great honor rules, and lasteth but a space.

Who trauells farre, comes wearie home at night, The mounting Larke, comes down to foulers hand: Great birdes are borne, about with feathers light, All great renowne, on tickle propps doth stand, All wordlie blisse, is builded on the sand. Which when a puffe, of winde beginnes to bloe: In peeces small, the painted postee will goe.

To greatest trées, the birdes doe daily flock,

On highest hils, wée walke to take the ayre: And sudden stormes, giue greatest oke a shock, The ground is bare, where many feete repayre, All people drawe, vnto a goodly faire. But where most haunte, is founde with iudging eye: There is least hope, and doth most daunger lye:

The fayre it selfe, where all is bought and solde, Showes méere deceipt, to him that buies and sells: The enemies strength, striues still with strongest holde, Disdaine doth drawe, where greatest honor dwels. All flies repayre, to flowers of swéetest smells, Each wicked worme to soundest kernell goes: Ten thousand wéeds, do growe about a rose.

Because the seate, of honor standeth hye, The baser sort, do bend the browe thereat: And honor is, a moate in enuies eye, Who vily thinkes, and speaks he knows not what. By enuies brute, that bitter biting gnatt. A blister growes, in soft and smothest skinne: So skarrs arise, where cleerest shew hath binne.

O malice great, thou monster sent from hell, The heauens hate, to heare thy naughty name: If world thee skorn, thou knowst not where to dwell, O fugitiue, O sonne of open shame. No wisdomes lore, nor men of noble fame, Can scape thy scourge, it giues so sore a yarke: And so thy boltes, are shot at eache good marke.

Men may not liue, though great they are of race, For malice, rage, and enuie now a dayes: Proude practise proules, about in eurie place, To breede debate, and cut of good mens praise.

Where malice sowes, the séedes of wicked waies. Both honor quailes, and creadit crackes with all: Of no••lest men, and such as feares no fall.

At goodlie fruite, that growes on topps of trées, The people gase, and somtime kudgels flinge: Disdaine repines, at all good things it sees, And so like snakes, doth enuie shoote his sting, The angrie waspes, are still about a king. Who ••eekes by swarmes, to hurt true meaning still: So workes great harmes, to those that thinks no ill.

True honor may, full long in fauour bée, If rigors wrath, and malice did not meete: And malice might, lies not in meane degree, It closely lurkes, in craft and cunning sprete, First fine deuice, can kisse both handes and feete. Then draw the knife, that cuts the harmlesse throte: Thus honor is, by drifts in daunger gote.

These deadly driftes, drinkes déepest riuers drie, Sincks greatest grounds, belowe past helpe of man: Flings flat on floore, the statelye buildings hye, Shakes downe great harts, (let wit doe what he can. Fine drift is hee, that mischiefe first beganne. Against whose force, no reason maie resist: That awefull worme, on earth doth what it li••t.

Then noble birth, and vertues rare must stowpe, When daie is come, and destines strikes the stroke: This cunning world, may make great minds to drowpe, UUhen we are c••lde, men needs must draw the yoke. UUhen life goes out, our breath is but a smoke. UUhen at the dore, our drerie death doth knocke: Take key in hand, wee must turne backe the locke.

Who would haue thought, Earle Morton should haue fell, A graue wise man, and gouernde manie a daye: Rulde all at home, and vsde his wit so well, In foreine Realmes, hee bare a wonderous swaie, Of worldes affaires, hee knew the readie waye. Yet knowledge failde, and cunning knew no boote: When fortune came, and tript him with her foote.

Loe, lookers on, what staie remaines in state. Loe, how mans blisse, is but a blast of winde: Borne vnto bale▪ and subiect to debate, And makes an ende, as destine hath assignde, Loe heere as oft, as Morton comes to minde, Dispise this worlde, and thinke it nothing straunge: For better place, when we our liues doe chaunge.

FINIS. qd. T. C.