OF THE SAME.

YATT resteth here, that quick1 could
never rest:

Whose heavenly gifts increased by
disdain ;

And virtue sank the deeper in his breast:
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame;
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain,
As on a stithe, where that some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.
A visage, stern and mild; where both did grow
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice:
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so,
To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice.
A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit.

A mark, the which (unperfected for time)
Some may approach, but never none shall hit.
A tongue, that serv'd in foreign realms his king;
Whose courteous talk to virtue did inflame
Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth, by travail, unto fame.
An eye, whose judgment none affect3 could blind,
Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile;
Whose piercing look did represent a mind
With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile.
A heart, where dread was never so imprest
To hide the thought that might the truth advance;
2 Forge, or anvil.

1 Alive.

3 Passion.

In neither fortune loft,1 nor yet represt,

To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance.
A valiant corpse, where force and beauty met:
Happy, alas! too happy, but for foes,

Lived, and ran the race that Nature set;

Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose.
But to the heavens that simple soul is fled,

Which left, with such as covet Christ to know,
Witness of faith, that never shall be dead;
Sent for our health, but not received so.

Thus, for our guilt this jewel have we lost;
The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.

OF THE SAME.

N the rude age, when knowledge was. not rife,

If Jove in Crete, and other were that

taught

Arts, to convert to profit of our life,

Wend after death to have their temples sought:
If, Virtue yet no void unthankful time

Failed of some to blast her endless fame;
(A goodly mean both to deter from crime,
And to her steps our sequel to inflame)
In days of truth if Wyatt's friends then wail
(The only debt that dead of quick may claim)
That rare wit spent, employ'd to our avail,
Where Christ is taught, we led to Virtue's train.
His lively face their breasts how did it freat,
Whose cinders yet with envy they do eat.

1 Elevated.

AN EPITAPH ON CLERE,

SURREY'S FAITHFUL FRIEND AND FOLLOWER.1

ORFOLK sprung thee, Lambeth holds

thee dead;

Clere, of the Count of Cleremont, thou
hight!

Within the womb of Ormond's race thou bred,
And saw'st thy cousin crowned in thy sight.
Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase;
(Aye, me! whilst life did last that league was tender)

1 These lines were inscribed, with the epitaph above, on a table in Lambeth Church:

"Epitaphium Thomæ Clere, qui fato functus est 1545, auctore Henrico Howard, Comite Surrey. In cujus faelicis ingenii specimen, et singularis facundiae argumentum, appensa faut haec Tabula per W. Howard, filium Thomae nuper Ducis Norfolciensis, filii ejusdem Henrici Comitis."

This epitaph occurs, with some trifling variations, in Camden's Remains, Aubrey's History of Surrey, v. 247, and in Bloomfield's Norfolk. Thomas Clere was the youngest son of Sir Robert Clere, of Ormesby in Norfolk, (the descendant of Clere, of Cleremont in Normandy) by Alice, daughter of Sir William Boleyn, by Margaret, daughter and coheir of Thomas Boteler, Earl of Ormond. He was consequently first "cousin" of Queen Anne Boleyn, whom he saw crowned" in 1533, and was connected with "Ormond's race." "Shelton" is presumed to have been a daughter of Sir John Shelton, of Shelton in Norfolk, but it does not appear that Clere married her. He died on the 14th of April, 1545, and was buried at Lambeth. These facts explain most of the allusions in the epitaph, and the others are noticed in the Memoir of Surrey.

2 Didst choose.

Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze, Landrecy burnt, and batter'd Boulogne render. 1 At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure,

Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will; Which cause did thee this pining death procure, Ere summers four times seven thou couldst fulfill. Ah! Clere! if love had booted care or cost, Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost.

OF SARDANAPALUS'S DISHONORABLE LIFE AND MISERABLE DEATH.

H' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul desire

And filthy lusts that stain'd his regal
heart;

In war, that should set princely hearts on fire,
Did yield, vanquisht for want of martial art.
The dint of swords from kisses seemed strange;
And harder than his lady's side, his targe:3
From glutton feasts to soldier's fare, a change;
His helmet, far above a garland's charge:
Who scarce the name of manhood did retain,
Drenched in sloth and womanish delight:
Feeble of spirit, impatient of pain,

When he had lost his honour, and his right,
(Proud time of wealth, in storms appalled with
dread,)

Murder'd himself, to shew some manful deed.

1 Surrender.

2 Recovery.

3 Shield.

HOW NO AGE IS CONTENT

WITH HIS OWN ESTATE, AND HOW THE AGE OF

CHILDREN IS THE HAPPIEST IF THEY HAD

SKILL TO UNDERSTAND IT.

AID in my quiet bed, in study as I

were,

I saw within my troubled head a heap of thoughts appear.

And every thought did shew so lively in mine eyes, That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled, as cause of thought did rise.

I saw the little boy in thought how oft that he Did wish of God, to scape the rod, a tall young man

to be.

The young man eke that feels his bones with pains opprest,

How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie

at rest.

The rich old man that sees his end draw on so

sore,

How he would be a boy again, to live so much the

more.

Whereat full oft I smiled, to see how all these three, From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop

and change degree.

And musing thus I think, the case is very strange,