THE LEGEND OF HUMPHREY DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.  
By Chr: Middleton.  
LONDON Printed by E. A. for Nicholas Ling, and are to be sold at his shop at the west door of S. Paul's Church. 1600.   

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful, Sir jaruis Clifton Knight.  
SIR, the ancient enemy to learning (ignorance) hath left off his old livery, russet jerkins & leather hose, & to deceive the world (like Esop's Ass in a Lion's skin) thrusts in himself sometimes like a Gentleman, sometime, like a soldier, & sometimes like a Lawyer, and like Caterpillars at the springe, bites off blossoms of Trees and corruptes the buds of flowers; And although the young fruits of my labours grew not by the banks of Helicon, nor were ever watered at Aganippies wells; yet (simple as they are) loathe I was a great while, to turn them abroad into the world, without armour against this enemy, and almost in despair: I was by a Gentleman your Woorships' well-willer and my very good friend, persuaded to shroud these simple lines under your shadow, who being yourself daily conversant in the histories of ancient times, are always willing & ready to countenance & support the poor remnants of depressed learning that are left for our times, would like the seven fold shield of Ajax retort such darts to them, that throw them, whereupon I am bold to presume upon your Wor. favour for my defence, which I doubt not but to find, and when more leisure, gives liberty to my pen, I will endeavour painfully to requite this courtesy which so impudently I now crave.  
Your Woe in all duty to command Chr. Middleton.   

Ad Christopherum Middletonum Hexastichon.  
Illustri Humphredi genio tua musa parentans,  
Vera refert, generosa canit, memoranda revoluit  
Virtuti, et laudi statuam dans, dat simul ips●.  
Non opus est vestrae musae, tum, carmine nostro,  
Nec opis est nostroe, radijs involuere Phoebum;  
Quid satis ornatam mus am phalerare iwabit?  
Rob: Allott.   

To his friend, Master Chr. M. his Book.  
LIke as a man, on some adventure bound  
His honest friends, their kindness to express,  
T'encourage him of whom the main is owned;  
Some venture more, and some adventure less,  
That if the voyage (happily) be good:  
They his good fortune freely may partake;  
If otherwise it perish in the flood,  
Yet like good friends theirs perished for his sake,  
On thy return I put this little forth,  
My chance with thine indifferently to prove,  
Which though (I know) not fitting with thy worth,  
Accept it yet since it proceeds from love;  
And if thy fortune prosper, I may see  
I have some share, though most return to thee.  
Mich: Drayton.   

To the Author. etc.  
OFT have I seen in some feigned History,  
Of lofty Knights, or lowly shepherds writ,  
Whereas Invention runs at liberty;  
Art, judgement, reading, spirit shown and wit.  
Yet in a Legend like Duke Humphreys known  
Where wits environed in with verity,  
Seldom have seen more art or judgement shown  
More reading spirit, wit, and Poetry.  
But Orpheus with his harp melodical  
In Canzonets: and heavens azure frame,  
For heavens history most hermonicall,  
In Spheres sweet music sings yet of thy name.  
Then heu'ns & him I wrong, they'll give thee merit  
For judgement, wit, for reading, art & spirit.   

Another of the same, To Duke Humphreyes' attendants.  
YE daily waiters on Duke Humphreys table,  
And hourly walkers by D. Humphreys shrine  
If that for meager famine ye be able  
Right to peruse a wel-pend witty line;  
Wait, walk no more, on's table, by his shrine,  
But with D. Humphreys Legend (Gentles) dine  
john Weever.   

The Legend of Humphrey Duke of Gloucester.  

1  
YE pours Divine directors of our wits,  
Send some small current from those silver springs  
By whose fair banks the heaven-borne muses sits,  
And to the bubbling streams sweet Ditties singes:  
Following whose course my meanor Muse may see,  
How she shall write this famous History.   

2  
Do not direct her in those muddy streams,  
Where now swims many wits, whose worth affords  
Sinful foul subjects, detestable themes,  
Set forth in worse and more detested words.  
Whose sound even sinful men refuse to hear,  
As objects far unfit for any ear.   

3  
But in a better vain direct my verse,  
Obscure not her intent, with such a blot,  
Since she endeavours truly to rehearse  
A story of times past, now near forgot.  
Grace her with words, then of no meaner worth,  
Then was the man, whose story she sets forth.   

4  
So shall his name by your assistance, raised  
From dark oblivion, show itself again,  
As one deserving better to be praised  
Then some, whose lives recorded now remain.  
For meaner virtues mightily renowned,  
Whilst his great works in ruin are nigh drowned.   

5  
What time this land disquieted with broils,  
Wearied with wars and spent for want of rest,  
Saw her adjoining neighbours free fromth'spoyles,  
Wherewith herself, herself had disposest  
Of peace and plenty, which men most desire,  
And in their steeds brought famine, sword and fire.   

6  
Labouring now to restore her great decays,  
Like to a sea-beate Bark new comed to shore,  
Seeks for a quiet harbour, where they may  
Mend and repair, what they had lost before:  
So fares it with this land that thus distressed,  
Was almost left un-peopled, unpossessed.   

7  
But that the fortunes of a blessed King,  
Embalmed and cured the wounds it had fustained,  
As when the son accompanying the spring,  
Brings life to the dead earth in which remained  
No hope of summer, for in kill frost  
Were all her powers decayed, her virtues lost.   

8  
Henry the first-born to his countries good,  
After he had relieved this ruin'd state,  
Fight against the French, that had withstood,  
The right his Ancestors had won of late.  
Cropped in his chiefest time, dies this fair King,  
Preventing th'harvest of so sweet a spring.   

9  
And in his Kingdom now grown great again,  
Almost too mighty for to be controwlde  
By a young King, that did retain the name  
Of his dead Father, yet scarce twelve months old.  
Too heavy was (God knows) for such a hand  
The Sceptre that did sway this headstrong land.   

10  
But yet supported by his uncles care,  
Humphrey, Gloucester's Duke (for so they call him,)  
To riper years sprung up our kingdoms heir,  
Protected from all harms that might befall him.  
During his nonage, by the careful heed  
Of watchful Gloster, borne for this good deed.   

11  
Whose holy life, good works, and virtuous deeds,  
I leave as subjects fit for greater wits:  
For greater are the virtues that proceeds  
From Kings, than meaner men: and better fits  
A loftier style, whose wit and judgement ripe,  
Then an unlearned shepherds oaten Pipe.   

12  
O were my pen, but able to set down  
Great Gloucester's virtues (as indeed they were)  
How would the world bewitched with his renown,  
In imitation, strive for to come near  
His worthy deeds, whereof who were possessed,  
Themselves might justly think were haply blest.   

13  
Look as the stars, when as the world's great light,  
Rouses him from his mleancholie bed:  
Drawing the dusky Curtains of the night,  
Wherein the earth lay sadly mantelled,  
Plucks in their pale heads as ashamed, and sorry  
He should so far exceed themselves in glory.   

14  
So did the world (wherein this worthy was)  
Admire the more than common gifts he had,  
Wondering how such a work should come to pass,  
And with abundant melancholy sad  
Frets out their lives, in envy and despair,  
For with his life, no life could ere compare.   

15  
And had he not been royal in his birth,  
Yet had his matchless learning and his wit  
From meanor roots, as fair a branch brought forth:  
For King-borne bloods, to shroud them under it.  
For Wit and Learning are two Angels wings,  
By which mean men soars up to mighty things.   

16  
Ah woe the while our age neglects that same.  
Would our great men would imitate his course:  
Then should their virtues add unto their name  
More nobleness, and after death, enforce  
A new lives date: whose limits should extend  
Beyond all ages after time shall end.   

17  
His youth not vainly spent in idle sports,  
Such as bewitches young men's fantasies:  
But seriously attending the resorts  
Of learned Councillors, men of great degrees  
Made him an Atlas, abler to sustain  
The heavy burden of his Cousins Reign.   

18  
By how much straighter springs the new-set Pine,  
By so much hope men of a fair increase:  
But wayward plants that crookedly decline,  
That they should prove good trees, all men surcease  
The hope they have of any further good,  
And lets them die regardless in the wood.   

19  
So when the imps that springs from Royal stocks,  
Keeps a strait passage through their virtuous youth:  
O how that show all men's desires provokes,  
That should increase still to a fairer growth:  
Until it prove a goodly broadspred tree,  
To shade poor shrubs from wrongs and injury.   

20  
So had men's hopes in him their full effect,  
His godly youth sprung to a virtuous age:  
Whose matchfull care, was spent in the respect  
Of Country's welfare: and he did engage  
His substance and himself, to do much good  
To th'poor, and such as most in danger stood.   

21  
And happy was the King, whose infancy  
Was guided, by so good a man's direction;  
Whose care was not his own commodity,  
Nor for to satisfy private affection.  
But to perform the charge he had in hand,  
Protect the King, for th'quiet of the land.   

22  
Then was not justice coloured with deceit,  
Kept down by might, wrought unto great men's wills:  
Nor was her Schools peised down with golden weights  
And she that should correct, colour men's ills.  
But who did well, by him were well regarded,  
And wicked men with their deserts rewarded.   

23  
Then Ruffling pride as light as vanity,  
Roused from her soft secure luxurious bed;  
Banished from hence, lived in obscurity,  
As on exiled, from whence she first was bred.  
And what sins else were great, were all defaced,  
And in their steeds, religious virtues placed.   

24  
But see to what a ftaylty we are borne,  
When as our best estate is sooh'st declined?  
Fair days have end, and their delights outworn,  
Succeeeds dark nights, cold storms, & blustering wind.  
Few men there were, that had, or ere shall have  
Fortune continue constant to their grave.   

25  
As storms of hail falls on the rypened corn,  
All unexpected to the husbandman,  
And shakes the full-fraught ears, that had outworn  
Cold, heat, drought, wet, and what soever can  
Decay the earth's increase, and now did stand  
Expecting but the gladsome Reaper's hand:   

26  
So fares it with this Duke, whose young days spent  
In virtuous studies, and true holiness,  
Sets down himself, now with a full intent,  
To spend his weary age in quietness.  
Thinking his holy life should this have found,  
Peace, tending on his body to the ground.   

27  
But o sad times where nought but misery.  
Stands ready to make pray on each estate,  
Sometime she tends them from their infancy,  
Until she sees their whole life ruinate.  
Other men lets she grow, to th'top of all,  
Intending so to work their greater fall.   

28  
So Pompey in the midst of victory,  
All unexpected happened on his end:  
And Caesar in his greatest majesty,  
Untimely murdered by his nearest friend.  
Such are men's best estates, more wretched they:  
In greatest pomp most subject to decay.   

29  
And did the troubles of this world but tend  
On wicked men, it were a juster doom:  
But soon do their injuries extend  
To holy lives, that hindering too soon  
The course of virtue, fore it grew too great,  
They may themselves establish in her seat.   

30  
And had it not been so with this great man,  
In what a glorious current had he run?  
Even from the Royal spring where he began,  
Down to the Sea of honour: nor there done.  
Had turned the strong tides by his virtues force,  
And made them strive to follow on his course.   

31  
Why doth my labouring Muse so far proceed,  
Exemplyfying of his worthy life,  
And numbering his good gifts? because indeed  
She's loath, to enter into such a strife  
As she must do, comparing but the ruth  
Of his sad age, with th'honour of his youth.   

23  
These were the younger sort, but graver men,  
Whose plots and drifts sorts not to their effect,  
With false surmises slily settles them,  
To draw the King's mind into some neglect  
Of the Duke's rule, and by that enterprise,  
Entice his youth to follow their advise.   

33  
And since the world's first age, what age was seen  
Wherein some fury roused from th'deepest hell:  
Possessed not men's conceits? and still hath been  
Ready to plot and practise any ill.  
Nor ever shall there be an age so clear:  
But in her smooth face shall some faults appear.   

34  
For as the brightest flame hath darkest smoke,  
Bodies their shadows, clearest springs their mud:  
Whose envious quallityes, oft times provoke  
Them to be ill, who else would still be good.  
Mud spoils the spring, smoke oft obscures the flame,  
And vicious men enxies at virtues name.   

35  
And which is more admired, even twixt two friends,  
Rises sad discord, I, and such as were  
Linked in the bonds of blood, whose deeds should tend  
To mutual friendship, and should eleave as near  
As twin-born brethren, whilst they are entomb,  
Within the compass of their mother's womb.   

36  
Great Henry Bewfoord Bishop of Winchester,  
Nearly allied both to the Duke and King,  
A man ambitious, haughty, not sincere  
And holily affected, seeks to bring  
By bad devices, underneath his hand,  
The King, the Nobles, th'commons of the land.   

37  
And having now enriched himself, with store  
Of what was needful for his great attempt:  
As money, friends, authority and power  
Of men, that nothing could his will prevent  
His great intendments, what so ere they were,  
But Gloucester's foresight in his daily care   

38  
Kindles the first fire of that woeful age.  
Whose flames coupling themselves with new allies,  
Which many after times could not assuage,  
But still fresh fuel brought it new supplies,  
Till this poor country spent with civil jars:  
Want brings at length a weak end to their wars.   

39  
Now Lion-like he forages the land,  
And being Lord Chaunc'ler, practises his will,  
Keeps laws and government at his command,  
And commands all, for no man would rebel  
Against his edicts, nor durst be so bold,  
But live content to be by him controwld.   

40  
Whose tyranny, when Gloster once espies,  
Like a good subject, labours to prevent  
The further mischief that might else arise,  
And in an open Court of Parliament,  
Draws articles; wherein he had expressed  
The Bishop's wrongs, which all would have red rest.   

41  
Now like the wind and tide when they do meet,  
With envious oppositions do affright  
The lesser streams, running for to regret  
The Ocean Empire, so do these two fight.  
One labours to bring all things to his will,  
The others care, works to prevent that ill.   

42  
The Bishop like the proud insulting wind,  
Disturbs the quiet stream where Gloster runs:  
Gloster as fitting such a royal mind,  
Defends himself against intruding wrongs.  
The meaner sort of men whilst things thus are,  
Dismayed and trembling, hides their heads for fear.   

43  
And whilst in this state did this land remain,  
New quarrels twixt their men did still arise,  
Wherein were great harms done, many were slain,  
Nor was there any man that could devise  
Means to prevent the mischiefs, that thus falls  
Upon their heads in these uncivil brawls.   

44  
Ah what a woe was this, to see those days  
When they that should keep peace, is means 'tis broken,  
Whilst guiders strive, their government decays.  
Some thought this strife, was but a fatal token  
Of those sad times, which presently ensued;  
Whose woes, a many after ages rued,   

45  
Yet Gloster thou wert guiltless of that wrong,  
Thou stoodst for thy defence, he strove to'ffend,  
Meddled with nothing, but what did belong  
Unto thy office, whilst he did contend  
To keep down the young King, to displace thee  
And bring this land to servile villainy.   

46  
And hadst thou borne with this his foul offence,  
What a soul-killing mischief had it been?  
Who suffers such wild deeds, and doth dispense  
With the bad doers, cherishes the sin:  
For errors left unpunished, are professed,  
And being not defended, is depressed.   

47  
But ancient Bedford whose deep piercing sight,  
Perceives the issue of this kindling fire,  
How both sides daily gathers to them might,  
Whose flames ere long, were likely to aspire  
Unto their highest buildings, and pull down  
The royal work that yet was scarce begun:   

48  
He labours with the King to make a peace,  
Now when their infant wars were scarce begun,  
The cause once gone, th'effects thereof surcease,  
And mischiefs being prevented whilst they are young,  
Cannot branch forth themselves to do that hurt,  
That time, their natures, and bad men would work.   

49  
Great King quoth he, the pole whereon our world  
Is moved, and by whom we sail our course,  
Forgive my tongues presumption that grows bold,  
here in thy sacred presence, to rehearse  
In this unseemly manner that I do,  
Th'clog of my mind and th'subject of my woe.   

50  
It is a story full of grief and ruth,  
An unexpected, sad, and harsh discourse:  
Of home-born troubles, which I know for truth,  
By gentle sufferance will grow daily worse,  
The force of fire, and water not controlled,  
Would merciless consume and drown the world.   

51  
Ever since that unlucky dismal hour,  
In which your Royal Father left this life,  
Have I been Regent of your foreign power,  
And know th'event of wars and th'end of strife,  
And therefore fear, lest that ill hap should chance  
To us, that wars have brought to woeful France.   

52  
And you great Lords, Gloster and Winchester,  
To whom I am bound in kindred and in love:  
here before God, the King and you, I swear  
It is no partial grudge or hate, doth move  
My mind to this, but care of Country's peace,  
That whilst we war abroad, home broils may cease.   

53  
It is the strife and hatred twixt you two,  
That my love labours now to reconcile:  
And 'tis the oath I made and th'due I owe,  
Unto my Sovereign, that thus makes me toil.  
To keep this furious stream within her bound,  
Lest breaking forth, her neighbouring friends be drowned   

54  
And the great reason why I move it here,  
Rather than to yourselves, is, for I know  
The lions countenance, better keeps in fear  
The meaner creatures, and to him they bow  
Their duteous knees, content with his decree,  
Who else betwixt themselves would near agree.   

55  
Now do I turn me to your sacred seat,  
Where all the virtues have their residence,  
And on my aged knees with tears entreat,  
A gracious favourable audience,  
It is a work of charity God knows,  
The reconsilement of two mortal foes.   

56  
A deadly hatred's grown betwixt these two,  
But from what root it springs I cannot tell,  
Nor can I learn, but I suspect it now,  
And for't be long I fear shall know too well:  
'tis from some private quarrel of their own,  
That all this public quarrel is now grown.   

57  
Which to repress, put to thy sacred hand  
Unto these severed branches of thy kind:  
The powerful words of Kings may more command,  
Then the affections of a subjects mind.  
I know great King, they both will be content,  
If thou but speakest, to surcease and relent.   

58  
The King looks on them with a sad aspect,  
And thus begins, in care and grief of soul:  
Dear Uncles, am I urged to correct  
My subjects faults, and must at length control  
Their sins with judgements such as they deserve:  
When words and good persuasions will not serve?   

59  
Such is my mind, that I could heartily wish  
There were no laws, so no man would offend,  
O what a world were that of joy and bliss,  
When to do well all creatures would contend!  
Good Prince's sorrow more in punishing,  
Then evil subjects in committing sin.   

60  
But since our first creation, we have still  
Been subjects unto sin, therefore the law  
Was first ordained, and given to keep our will  
From following sinful lusts, to live in awe,  
That those bad men whom no good means could mend  
For terror of the law, might fear t'offend.   

61  
Then for the honour of our auncientry,  
Whose happy souls in fair Elysium,  
Reposed in rest, lives to eternity,  
Whether ere it be long we all shall come:  
Let not my time be stained, with such a sin  
As th'vengeance-craving discord of my kin.   

62  
With that speaks reverend Gloster, whose grey hairs  
The ancient signs of honour, did presage  
A guiltless soul, in humble words declares  
What he supposed, incensed the Bishop's rage,  
And how himself had patiently outborn  
His injuries, disdainful words and scorn.   

63  
Great King quoth he, here at thy Princely feet,  
Do I throw down myself and my good cause,  
And of thy sacred Majesty entreat,  
If I be guilty, or have broke the laws  
Of God, or thee, drkms-man-like affect'on,  
Let me be punished by my foes direct'on.   

64  
The Articles I gave in th'parliament,  
Containing many wrongs that craved redress,  
So help me God, was not with an intent  
To prejudice his person, or possess  
Your Princely mind with any wrong conceit,  
But to redress those wrongs the world thought meet.   

65  
And had he not been wilful stubborn,  
Against my private exhortations,  
Glad had I then been, I might have forborn,  
Those public kinds of exclamations.  
For well he knows oft have I privately,  
Persuaded him to more humility.   

66  
With that the Bishop swelling with disdain,  
His works should come in question like dark skies,  
Whose mallancholy show, presages rain  
And boisterous storms; in angry words replies.  
For his aspiring mind could not sustain  
Reproof, but held th'reprovers in disdain.   

67  
Eternal time quoth he, why hast thou changed  
Thy golden progress, for a leaden way?  
Why have days, nights, and hours, thy servants ranged  
Through these deep miry steps, and still do stray  
In this bad world, whose rude unmembred form  
Begot by time, was too untimely borne   

68  
On nature the great mother of us all,  
Who in abortive birth brought forth our age;  
And looking on her child, foresaw t'wold fall  
To this disordered, and vnnat'rall rage  
Of brotherhood, and therefore would not stand,  
To set it into parts, head, foot and hand.   

69  
But left it out of order, like a Bear  
That brings deformed creatures to the light,  
So bore she us, and loath she was to rear  
The frame in order, lest it should in spite  
Of time, and her, the father, and the Mother,  
In civil discords one undo another.   

70  
But Fortune the commander of all kinds,  
Although our parents, thought they should prevent  
This fatal mischief, yet this Empress minds  
Nothing shall hinder her in her intent,  
But takes th'advantage of our formelesse course,  
And makes our mischiefs by so much the worse.   

71  
For had our limbs been in their several places,  
Brought into order, than the face had stood  
Without th'controlment, and the base disgraces  
Of meaner parts, in lovely brotherhood.  
And the poor feet had been content to tread,  
Those paths they were directed by the head.   

72  
I have done nothing but what I might do,  
What th'holy Church commands, you esteem wrongs  
In times forepast, well wot I 'twas not so:  
And times to come shall teach you, what belongs  
Unto your duties better than you do,  
Or fret your stubborn hearts away with woe.   

73  
With that good Gloster, who no more could hear  
Of these proud braves, answers the Bishop thus:  
I would the times were either as they were,  
When as our late dead King reigned over us,  
Or he that doth his royalties inherit,  
Had but his Father's years and lofty spirit.   

74  
How would he stop these soul words down thy throat  
That thus defil'st the stock from whence we came?  
Thou singest a ravens harsh vntuned note,  
Unlike an Eagles bird: And without shame  
Comparest our root, and th'branches thence brought forth,  
To a misshapen, foul, untimely birth.   

75  
Which makes me think, that from our Royal nest  
Some fatal night-crow, stole away a bird,  
And in his place unluckily possessed  
Some of her own foul, black, and hellborn brood:  
How otherwise should such a deed be done,  
Parents so good, should have so bad a son?   

76  
From the sweet Rose springs not foul stinking flowers.  
Nor doth the spreading Vine bring forth black sloes.  
Like things from like proceed in shape and power.  
The Kingly Eagle hatches not fowl crows.  
Thy Royal Mother near brought thee to light,  
But some ill-boding, fierce, and ugly sprite.   

77  
Forgive me King that I dare be so bold,  
here in thy presence: for I must confess,  
Patience is anger's subject, and controlled  
With every fury, which men would redress  
But cannot do't; for she is gentle, mild,  
O'ercome, d, and kept down, like a strengthless child.   

78  
Whereas thou urgest me, that I neglect  
My duty to the Church, and that I grudge  
Her holy laws should be of such respect:  
For that his sacred Majesty be judge,  
How I have ever strove with all my might,  
To keep religion and the Churches right.   

79  
But against thee, a bad unworthy guide,  
For such a thing of worth am I so stout:  
And God defend lest thy unruly pride,  
Bring her in peril, if not root her out.  
So strong-built ships in careless masters hands,  
Are split and beat a sunder on the sands.   

80  
When he had done, the King prolongs his speech,  
Sorry I am my Reign should thus begin  
With civil discords, and the hateful breach  
Of kinsman's love: than which, a deadlier sin  
Was never bred. What peace is like to be,  
When kindred with their kindred disagree?   

81  
Be ruled by me, let not offences grow  
'mongst meaner men, exampled by your lives;  
Forget your griefs, and do not further sow  
These seeds of discord: whosoever strives  
For troubles, he gains nothing in this life  
But woes, disquietness, hatred and strife.   

82  
With these and such like motions, they were brought  
At length to compremit their injuries,  
Which Gloster truly meant, but th'other sought  
To overreach him with his subtiltyes:  
And so he did at length, but still pretends  
All should be quiet, and they two be friends.   

83  
Then harmless Gloster glad of these good days,  
For he (good man) wished not the Bishop's ill,  
Goes forward in his office, and assays  
To root up other weeds, that were as ill,  
Though not so mighty; so the weeds being dead,  
The flowers might sooner grow and better spread.   

84  
So ravenous Wolves oft in disguised skins,  
When in their own shapes they dare not be seen:  
Deceives the harmless sheep, and often wins  
Great conquests, from good men, that have not been  
enured to subtleties and deep deceits,  
Catched in silk nets, nor poisoned with sweet baits.   

85  
And thus consorts his ancient enemies,  
Envious Winchester, and many more,  
The Duke of Suffolk, and a company  
Of hellborn villains, such as he before  
Near knew, nor near offended, but 'tis so,  
Whom men suspect least, breeds them oft most woe.   

86  
O that good gifts, placed in so good a creature,  
Should both be subjects, unto such as they!  
Or that injurious wrongs should work by nature,  
To bring honest true dealing to decay!  
But so it is, fair colours soon soil,  
Things of best prize, are subject most to spoil.   

87  
And for on him, their work cannot prevail,  
They change their plot, and go another way,  
To grieve his aged mind; and do assail  
Him in an other kind: for oft they say,  
The wrongs that men have done unto their friends,  
Unto their substance, and themselves extends.   

88  
But more than to his friend, th'accuse his wife,  
A virtuous Lady, one of good account:  
Lays treasons to her charge, seeks for her life,  
Says her conspiracies, do far surmount  
The common faults of men, and she hath been  
A traitor unto God, and to the King.   

89  
They charge her that she did maintain and feed,  
Soul-killing witches, and conversed with devils.  
Had conference with spirits, who should succeed  
The King; and by their means, had wrought some evil  
Against his royal person; and had sought  
To end his life, and bring the state to nought.   

90  
Upon surmises thus she was arraigned,  
Witness suborned, and she condemned for it:  
And from her husband closely is detained,  
And that their doings, might succeed, more fit  
To their desires, it is 'mongst them thought meet,  
She should do open penance in the street.   

91  
And after that performed, be banished hence,  
Into the Isle of Man, and there should live,  
A guiltless exile, for a small offence  
Or none at all: and who so ere did give  
That unjust sentence, hath ere this his doom,  
Amongst th'condemned, where comfort near shall come.   

92  
All this her husband saw, but could not mend,  
Saw his Sunsetting in a dusky cloud,  
That did presage, a dark and lowering end  
Of his old days, and he disdained to shroud  
His head in meaner shades, whose usurped power  
Might drive away that imminent foul shower.   

93  
Yet hopes he, that the King will not forget,  
What his deserts had won, and what he was,  
Or at the least, his honour would not let  
His dear friends, and his near alliance, pass  
Through such a hell, of undeserved woes,  
That near deserved the penalties of laws.   

94  
And thus he moves it whilst the floods of grief  
Did Nilus-like o'erflow the Di'mond shore  
Of his wet eyes, whose hope was not relief  
Of their sad case, but rather wished for more  
Abundant sorrow, by which they might be  
Drowned in dark pitchy gulfs, and near more see.   

95  
Men rather fast to death, than they will take  
A poisoned nutriment: a sick man's heart  
Desires death, rather than his health should make  
Way for a worse disease, whose bitter smart  
Would work his greater grief; even they do so  
Wish blindness before sight, to see more woe.   

96  
If pity quoth he, sit in Princes hearts  
As it should do, or mercy have her seat  
By judgements side, to mitigate the smart  
Of punishment, too heavy and too great,  
Let these two gentle Gods look then on me,  
That ask their help, with tears in misery.   

97  
Hateful oppression hath usurped (great King)  
Thy place, and wrung out of thy Royal hand  
The sword of justice, and stands mennacing  
Of cruel punishments unto this land,  
Whose guiltless eyes, were near opened to see,  
(Since thou wert King) the face of tyranny.   

98  
'tis not thy fault, for thou art just and kind,  
Witness myself that do complain of wrongs.  
I am oppressed (great King,) and yet I find  
That thou art guiltless, and dost what belongs  
Unto a guiltless soul, wish all were right,  
But wishing helps not wrongs, nor resists might.   

99  
Remove the Pillars, on whose base doth stand  
A mighty building, and all comes to thrall:  
Take out the staff from an old man's weak hand,  
And then his aged body must needs fall.  
Take steeridge from a ship, or do not guide it,  
And on some Rock the silly bark will split.   

100  
The base whereon my aged frame hath stood,  
The staff whereon I stayed my trembling arm,  
The rudder that did guide me, and with good  
And wholesome counsel kept my age from harm,  
Is gone, what then may I suspect to have,  
But so deign fall, to an untimely grave?   

101  
Where would I were in peace, for here is none,  
And less I fear will be, which makes my mind  
Think, happy are our Fathers that are gone,  
Where sure they shall a better kingdom find.  
Truly said Ovid, that no man should say  
His life was blest, before his latest day.   

102  
Against my wife (God knows) a guiltless soul,  
Is past a heavy judgement undeserved:  
Which yet thy Royal power may control,  
And by that means, their lives may be preserved,  
That lives to do thee good, who, were they gone,  
I prophecy thy quiet reign were done.   

103  
Pity speaks to thee for her guiltless case:  
And mercy says, the doom is all too great:  
judgement itself would be content to cease,  
If but thy sacred tongue vouchsafe t'entreat,  
For 'tis most fit (say they) we should dispense,  
With those that have committed no offence.   

104  
For laws were made to punish evil men,  
And cherish up the good, such as live well.  
This being so true as 'tis: why do they then  
Make equal justice, 'gainst herself rebel?  
Keep it in order (King,) for all men say,  
That things brought out of course, will soon decay.   

105  
The King heavy to hear this sad discourse,  
Descends his royal throne, whereon he sat,  
Takes up his uncle, and to make restraint  
Of his increasing grief, 'gins to entreat  
Him with good words, and his desire is  
He could but do that good, which he doth wish.   

106  
My Noble Aunt quoth he, suffers these ills,  
Without my privity, and they have got  
Such strong Commissions, for to work their wills,  
Under out seals, that rightly can I not  
Recall the work, nor will they licence me  
To pardon her pretended traytory.   

107  
Good uncle well you know, I have given over  
All government, and have discharged my soul  
Of worldly cares, and cannot well recover  
That right again, and if I should control  
What they have done, t'wold sure stir up their wrath,  
To execute my ruin, and your death.   

108  
Gloster with this amazed, that he should hear  
His Kingly Cousin give him no relief:  
What he would gladly speak, he doth forbear,  
His mouth is locked, and the grim porter grief,  
Keeps in the sad words that he fain would speak,  
Controls his tongue, & makes her powers too weak.   

109  
Thus the King sorry he cannot relieve him,  
Comforts his grief with tears, and so they part:  
The woes that Gloster hath, do no less grieve him  
Then the good Duke, and cleaves as near his heart.  
True friends have ceiling of each others woe,  
And when ones heart is sad, all theirs is so.   

110  
The Duke looked up, and saw the King was gone,  
And the room empty, time and place affords,  
A fit occasion for a man to moan,  
And quiet silence licenses his words,  
To talk to wood, and stones, and empty air,  
For to his plaints, no man would lend his ear.   

111  
For want (quoth he) of witness, I must make  
You senseless things recorders of my woe:  
Friends and acquaintance fly, and will not seek  
Redress for wrongs; the laws are altered so,  
That men which of all creatures should live best,  
Are of all law, and justice, dispossessed.   

112  
Would you (quoth he) could utter what I say;  
That the remembrance of my tears, might last  
To unborn ages, and when you decay;  
You could tell your succession what hath passed  
In these ill times: then would I tell a tale  
Of so much ruth, that flint and steel should wail.   

113  
I prophesy a time shall shortly be,  
And well is me, I shall not see the day,  
When all too late, with sorrow they shall see  
What 'tis to do injustice, and to sway  
The sword awry: for next to tyranny,  
Comes wars, dissensions, civil mutiny.   

114  
Once did Astrea leave the world before,  
Because the world grew weary to do well:  
Once gone again, I fear she'll near come more,  
Nor set her helping hand, for to refel  
These growing mischiefs, but let them increase,  
Till men have quite forgot the name of peace.   

115  
When as the Sun forsakes his crystal sphere,  
How dark and ugly is the gloomy sky?  
And in his place there's nothing will appear,  
But clouds that in his glorious circuit fly.  
So when a King forsakes his royal place,  
There still succeeds oblique and dark disgrace.   

116  
Let not the air be moved and 'twill infect:  
Let not the water run and it will stink:  
Disturb the course of justice by neglect,  
And the poor world corrupts: and I do think,  
The want of right, to us like plague will bring;  
For not to rule, is not to be a King.   

117  
And where there is no guide, the people perish,  
As pruning to the vines, lopping to th'trees,  
Weeding to th'corn, corn, vines, and trees do cherish,  
So should Kings rule inferior degrees,  
Lest stinking weeds and briars themselves do nourish,  
In that good ground where better herbs should flourish.   

118  
Forgive me heavens, that I do not amend  
Th'abused youth of this well meaning King,  
It is my charge; yet can I not defend  
Him from these dangers he is falling in;  
But frown on them great God, his youth that lead  
In paths of sorrow so misordered.   

119  
And gracious time tell to the world to come,  
By whom, his royal youth was thus misled,  
Lest ignorant of it, I be by some  
Condemned, for doing of so bad a deed.  
For well I know, with such a foul offence,  
Nor God, nor mortal men, will ere dispense.   

120  
With that, a servant of his comes and says,  
How that his wife had gone through London street,  
In public penance, and was led away  
By Sir John Stanley, whom if he would meet,  
He must make haste, or else (quoth he) she is gone  
In woeful exile, her hard hap to moan.   

121  
Hereat the Duke awaked, as from a sleep,  
Or as one rising from a cold dead swoon,  
Forbears his further words, and's feign to keep  
What else he would have said, till he have found  
So fit a time again; for he must go,  
To see his wife, and comfort her in woe.   

122  
And over-takes her even at that same shore,  
That bounds this Island from the Ocean's force:  
A place whereas they never met before;  
Upon whose banks, passed such a sad divorce  
Betwixt these two, as never since hath been,  
Nor th'sun that all doth see, had ever seen.   

123  
There like two streams that parted at their spring,  
Runs in two several channels all their way,  
And at the last, their twin-born currents bring  
Into one bed, where long they cannot stay,  
To greet each other, fore that time perforce  
Drives them down to the sea, and ends their course.   

124  
So meets these two, even where they may not bide  
To feed their sorrows with sad tales of woe,  
For they were subjects, to the time and tide  
That tarried but their parting, she must go  
To wail her woes upon a foreign shore,  
He stay behind (poor man) to suffer more.   

125  
Good Ellinor (quoth he) for thou retain'st  
That title still, though ignominious wrongs  
Have ceased upon thy fortune, and destaines  
Thy virtues, and leaves nothing that belongs  
To such a Lady, but thy poor bare name,  
And that disgraced too, with reproach and shame.   

126  
Although the Sun be oft Eclipsed in clouds,  
Yet that vale drawn, he shows himself again:  
Oft misty fogs, the heavens great glory shrouds,  
But they dissolve, and the fair stars remain:  
The crystal streams are oft defiled in mud,  
But clears again, and makes their waters good.   

127  
So are we subject to the rust of times,  
Dishonours, and disgraces, but they fade,  
And we shall one day shake them off, and climb  
Up to our own estates, for we are made  
Reproachful, that of ourselves are not so,  
And therefore shall we live, t'outlive this woe.   

128  
The melancholy seas, will give thee leave,  
To mourn thy fortunes, whilst Orion-like  
The deep stringed sighs and tears, shall quite bereave  
The Ocean of her people, and shall strike  
Them with remorse, who being all gathered there,  
Reasonless things shall pity what they hear.   

129  
And I will leave men's companies a while,  
And under Cipres shades, to beasts and birds,  
Trees, stones and rivers, sit and there beguile  
Consuming time, till to my woeful words  
They frame lamenting notes; whose heavy ditty  
Shall always end, their mournful stops in pity.   

130  
So lands and seas, poor fishes, beasts and birds,  
Hard stones, strong trees, and siluer-running streams,  
Shall sympathize our woes, grieve at our words,  
And wish that they our sorrows might redeem;  
Whilst wicked men, that wrought our misery,  
Feels not the sting of hard extremity.   

131  
As for the heavens they have seen our wrongs,  
And in their good time will revenge this deed;  
There justice sits, and renders what belongs  
To men's deserts, and what is there decreed  
She executes on earth they will not bliss  
Those bloody hands, bad minds that wrought us this.   

132  
When ere I sleep, my dreams shall be of thee,  
And when I eat, how bitter is the bread  
Which I must taste without thy company?  
And waking, if I see not thee I am dead.  
Thus sleeping, waking, eating, all I do,  
Without thee, do all aggravate my woe.   

133  
With that he stopped, for tears commands his tongue  
To cease, whilst they succeeding in their course,  
Perfect his grief, for these two parts belong  
Unto true sorrow; words, and tears, have force  
To move compassion, in the savage minds  
Of brutish people, reason-wanting kinds.   

134  
Great Duke (quoth she) depressed by my fall,  
'tis not eternal banishment from hence,  
Me ought dismays, but that hard hap withal,  
That exiles me from thee, so one offence  
Or rather none, and I that never meant  
To do them wrong, have double punishment.   

135  
Forget thou to lament, and let me grieve,  
For if we sorrow both, we both shall die:  
'Twere good that one, endeavoured to relieve  
With cheerful words, the others misery.  
Leave thou to mourn, and I shall better see  
A hopeful time, of my recovery.   

136  
It were no reason thou shouldst bear the weight,  
Of my misdeeds; but I myself alone  
Will undergo the burden, 'tis my right,  
Let it then go with me, lest when I am gone,  
The envious minds of enemies repine,  
This land shall harbour any thing that's mine.   

137  
Who lives in Egypt must say black is white,  
Because their beauty is a Sunburnt skin:  
So must thou change thy mind, and in despite  
Of virtue, teach thy old tongue to begin  
An unused note, for who so hath to do  
With deep desemblers, must dissemble too.   

138  
If thou'lt do aught for me, this lesson learn,  
So shall good Gloster live in better ease:  
For if the envious eyes of foes, discern  
Thou grievest at my exile, it will displease  
Their humours, and set them a work to see,  
How they may hurt thee, as they have injured me.   

139  
But foolish as I am, why do I strive,  
Teaching a river to ascend a hill?  
To turn the course of nature, and to drive  
The spheres of heaven, back against their will?  
To teach thy tongue that never stepped awry,  
Now in thine age, to flatter, fawn, and lie?   

240  
My reason is, because I would preserve  
Thy life from the danger it scarce can miss:  
Men are not measured now as they deserve,  
But as the bad conceits of tyrants is.  
From whose unrighteous doom, fair heavens defend  
Thy holy life, that hopes the better end.   

141  
With that Sir Thomas Stanley (her sad guide)  
Breaks off their intermissive piteous tears:  
Lady (quoth he) the due observant tide,  
Hath filled the hollow vast, and empty shores  
Of this our haven, and his swift foot course,  
Bends back unto the sea his matchless force.   

142  
Full loath (God knows) am I to be the man,  
Appointed to dissolve so strong a bond,  
As links true love: yet will I what I can  
Labour to keep it still, except command,  
(That overrules good meaning) make a way  
To bring it to a suddener decay.   

143  
Call but to mind Sir Thomas (says the Duke)  
What 'tis to part true friends, and thou shalt see,  
'tis such a sin as gentle kind rebuke  
Forsakes, and says 'tis worthier to be  
Reserved for punishment, we cannot give  
Eternal fire, whose furies ever live,   

144  
Yet I confess I do thee wrong good knight,  
Thou art commanded to convey her hence:  
And being a subject, must obey the might  
Of mighty men's commands, though the offence  
To God and all good men: for all men say,  
Kings were made to command, subjects t'obey.   

145  
Yet use her well to qualify the deed,  
Smooth oils desolues hard stones, fair words enforce  
Pity in flinty hearts, there will proceed  
From thy kind usage, reasons of remorse,  
To move the heavens to forgive this sin,  
And to remove the plagues thouart falling in.   

146  
With that they parted, for they might not stand  
On longer terms, nor would their sorrows let  
Their words dilate their griefs, but doth command  
Their duteous tongues to silence, and they set  
Mild, quiet, patience, before their eyes,  
And to her shrine do solemn sacrifice.   

147  
Now where's the doleful muses; that should play  
In tragic scenes, the parting of these two?  
Will none assist me? then well may I say,  
It is indeed a story of such woe,  
As if but tongues, and pens, should strive t'express  
Their pains, would make the sorrow but seem less.   

148  
Then as we wonder at the countless stars,  
Numberless sands, the infinite increase  
Of men, birds, beasts, and all things that infers  
An admiration: so let our tongues cease  
To talk, of what we cannot comprehend,  
As wondrous things, whose numbers have no end.   

149  
This done, the Duke repairs to th'Court again,  
Performs his office, labours to forget  
These sorrows: but alas the growing pain  
Of this deep festered wound, will never let  
His thoughts, or deeds, or life, have any peace,  
Till thoughts, and deeds, and life, and all shall cease.   

150  
Then sought the Nobles for to match their King,  
In marriage with some Prince of his estate:  
So that from him more royal seed might spring,  
To wear the English Crown, and prop agate  
The Common wealth, for subjects most desires  
A royal issue to succeed their sires.   

151  
And he by private means, without th'consent  
Of his Protector Gloster, willing is  
To marry, and withal was well content,  
That William Duke of Suffolk, one that was  
His uncles foe, should betrothe in his name,  
One borne unto small wealth, and to less fame,   

152  
Margaret daughter to Reynard Naples King,  
Enriched by this match, who else was poor:  
A king only in name, without the thing  
That makes men mighty, and in steed of dower,  
They buy her of her Father, with more store  
Of lands, and goods, then ere he had before.   

153  
Look as great Cynthia, in her silver Car  
Rides in her Progress round about her sphere,  
Whose tendance, is the fair eye-dazling stars,  
trooping about her Chariot, that with clear  
And glorious shows, makes every eye delight,  
To gaze upon the beauty of the night.   

154  
Or as the spring comes to regreet the earth,  
Clad and attended with the world's delight:  
So is the Queen in Majesty brought forth,  
Tended with Princes, that a fairer sight  
This land of ours, a long time had not seen,  
And welled had been for them, had that not been.   

155  
And though the Duke unwilling was to have,  
His Kingly Cousin marry with this Queen:  
Yet since 'twas done, it was too late to crave  
Assistance to disjoin them; that had been  
But labour lost, a toil unto no end:  
Wise men let faults o'erpass they cannot mend.   

156  
And what his duty and his service ought her,  
That he performed, and ever was content  
To do her good, and his endeavour brought her  
More friends, who else in grievous discontent,  
Had put on arms against her, but that they  
Saw him content, and for his sake they obey.   

157  
But as most women else, even so was she  
Unconstant, and that wavering power did guide  
Her fickle thoughts, that nothing could agree  
With her conceit, but new devices, pride  
And women's toys, who children-like affected  
loves trifles, whilst good things are quite neglected.   

158  
Good Duke to what misfortune wert thou borne?  
How was the heavens conjoined at thy birth?  
Thy younger times, might better have outworn  
These troubles that thy latter years brought forth.  
But subtle fortune, turned her fatal hand  
Against thine age, not able to withstand.   

159  
But whether 'twere the fortune of the place,  
(Th'dukedom of Gloster), that thus crossed thy bliss,  
I know not, but I guess, for all the race  
Almost of Dukes, that were installed in this  
Unlucky Dukedom, made an end like thee,  
By hard and unexpected casualty.   

160  
Thomas of Woodstock, and Hugh Spensers' thrall,  
(May be great reasons to persuade this thing)  
And thine, and after thee an others fall,  
That was once Duke there, though he died a King,  
Richard the third, yet was his life so bad,  
That he deserved a worse death than he had.   

161  
Yet let thy soul forgive this sin of mine,  
That puts thee in amongst a company  
Of wicked men, whose lives were worse than thine,  
Though death amongst you all dealt equally,  
For he's unpartial, and with one self hand  
Cuts off both good and bad, none can withstand.   

162  
The Queen that now had lent her youthful ears,  
To the vain pleasures of these foolish times,  
To be employed, considered not the cares  
That troubles graver heads, whose wisdom climbs  
To higher steps of judgement, and near cease  
Striving to keep, their idle lives in peace.   

163  
The drone should die, did not the toilsome Bee  
Work to supply her need: the silly snake  
Had starved in cold, had he not been set free  
From the congealed frost, whose force did make  
Passage for death in his friend's bosom warmed,  
From frost and snow, and kill winter armed,   

164  
Yet see how these kind favours have an end,  
The Drone starves the poor Bee, that got her meat:  
The venomed snake requites his careful friend,  
By stinging him that did procure the heat  
That preserved her: so did the Queen requite  
The Duke's kind deeds, with malice, wrath, and spite.   

165  
For whilst he laboured in the commonwealth,  
And sought their good, by governing the King:  
Encroaching danger comes on him by stealth,  
And ere he wist had slily drawn him in.  
Such is the manner of bad minded men,  
They work their hurt that seeks to preserve them.   

166  
Now hold they secret counsels to invent,  
How the Duke's person might be brought in danger,  
Persuade the King against him, with intent  
Sooner to spoil him, but he now no stranger  
To their devices, seeks in what he may,  
To keep himself from falling to their prey.   

167  
To plead his guilt less case it was no boot,  
They knew it well enough, but would not know it,  
That all men were his foes, was out of doubt,  
Yet the King loved him well, but durst not show it.  
there's almost none dare come to him to cheer him,  
And even his servants feared to come near him.   

168  
And that his honour might the sooner fall,  
They took away his office, for say they  
The King's at age, and needs no help at all  
Of a Protector, but himself shall sway  
The Sceptre: nor was it convenient  
He should live under others government.   

169  
With this the Duke as willing to resign,  
As they were to desire it, on his knees  
Yields up his charge, and though he did divine  
Some ill ensuing mischief, and he sees  
All men look sadly on him, yet he rests  
Contented, and turns all things to the best.   

170  
Great King (quoth he) that from thine infant spring,  
Thorough the channel of thy youthful time:  
Hast run securely without daungering,  
The hope of manly years, and now canst climb  
Up to thy throne thyself without my hand,  
And there hold all things at thine own command:   

171  
here do I yield mine office, which God grant  
Thy Princely hand may hold even to thy grave,  
But sore I fear me, some will seek to scant,  
The royal power such a King should have.  
And greedy of that gain, without all shame  
Keep from thy hands, all thine, save thy bare name.   

172  
Yet hope I thou shalt have a fairer Reign,  
For me thinks that this royal name of thine,  
No meaner bounds or limits should contain,  
Then all this Western world: how long a time  
Hath victory been seated on thy throne,  
And stays thine answer ere she will be gone?   

173  
Let times to come that talks of thy renown,  
Speak no less good of thee then of thy Sire.  
And as thouart heir unto his land and crown,  
Be so unto his virtues, let th'desire  
Of honour, conquest, time-consuming fame,  
Advance another Worthy, of that name.   

174  
Whose memory, when stones and tombs of brass,  
Deep graven Epitaphs, and hollow graves  
Shall quite consume, and their memorial pass  
Down to the shady groves, and darksome caves  
Where dead oblivion dwells, in whose black breast  
Lies buried, all that former times possessed.   

175  
Thy name, like to the still enduring Sun,  
Shall outlive all, and be the world's great wonder,  
I, and when Sun, and Moon, and Stars, have done,  
And their concordant Spheres broken a sunder,  
Thy light succeed their lights, and as now we  
Admire their glory, so they may do thee.   

176  
I see no reason why thou shouldst not flourish,  
As thy great Grandsire did, and be as good,  
For that same clime, and earth, and ayte doth nourish  
Thee, that fed them, the issue of their blood  
Thou art, ah why then should we fear,  
That thou shouldst be less famous than they were?   

177  
There is no reason, for after that th'spring,  
there's no man doubts, but harvest comes of course,  
When as the dusky morning doth begin,  
To break the night's thick fogs, and by his force  
Dissolve the shady clouds, the night outworn,  
We're certain of a fair succeeding morn.   

178  
But I shall never see that happy day,  
For lean-faced death, tended with painful hours,  
Hangs on my weary limbs, and makes his way  
Through hollow bloodless veins, whose weakened powers,  
Scarce able to support this careful head,  
Says (fore that day) old Gloster shall be dead.   

179  
And he foretold his end, for 'twas not long,  
Ere many several treasons were pretended  
Against him, and by fierce iniutious wrong,  
He's charged with offence, that near offended.  
Yet this his hope is, heaven will harbour them  
That are unjustly punished here 'mongst men.   

180  
That they accuse him of, is, he devised  
New punishments for such as did offend;  
Such as our laws inflict not, and he prized  
Before them other laws, which in the end  
Say they, will overturn our settled state,  
And leave this now-good Kingdom ruynate.   

181  
Of these he is accused, for these arrested,  
Committed to the Tower, there laid in prison,  
And though with tears, and prayers he oft requested  
He might but know his fault, for law and reason  
Play both the advocates upon his side,  
But their requests is lawlessly denied.   

182  
For grief of which hard dealings (some men say)  
The good Duke died there, but some others guess,  
His ancient enemies devised a way.  
There to cut off his days, and dispossess  
The world of her chief good, o times accursed  
That spoils the best things, to preserve the worst!   

183  
Like to a morn, whose evening shuts in clouds,  
Making a dark end of a glorious day:  
Falls this good Duke, and in his ending shrouds  
The beauty of his youth, yet all men say  
His Sunbright virtues, showed through this dark veil  
And poisoned envies, deadly aim did fail.   

184  
For he lies buried in famous Regestry,  
Where (save himself) scarce any are retained:  
Other great men have writ their memory,  
On walls and stones, and yet their names remained  
Nothing like his, whose Epitaph is placed  
In men's conceits, that never shall be raced.   
FINIS.