Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.
Epitaph on Archbishop WhitgiftLXXV. J. W.
P
You duelye can esteeme your new increase;
But our soules’ eyes are dymme to see the loss,
Great prelate, wee sustaine by thy decease.
Although the best of men did the best esteeme;
For hardly can you square a mortall thought,
That of so great worth worthilie can deeme.
As yet is scarcelie mist in Labanus:
This richer then the Wise King’s richest gemme,
New lost, as yet is scarselie mist of us.
Proudlie foretold their bookes of eternities:
But if my Muse were like mine argument,
Theis lynes would outlive both their memories.
But pictures of false gods, and men’s true faultes;
Whereas in my verse ever should remayne
A true saint’s praise, whose worth fills heaven’s great vaults.
That in the Militant has shyn’d so longe:
Let rarest witts thy great deserts enrolle.
I can but sing thee in a mournfull songe,
And wish that with a sea of teares my verse
Could make an island of thy honour’d herse.