¶ An Epitaphe on the death of the right noble and most virtuous Lady Margarit Duglasis good grace, Countisse of Livinox (& Daughter to the renowned & most excellent Lady Margarit Queen, Sister to the magnificent & most mighty Prince Henry the eight of England, France and Ireland, King, and by God's permission Queen of Scotland,) who diseased this life the ninth day of March. Anno. 1577. at her manor in Hackney in the county of Midelsex and lieth interred the .3. day of April at Westminster in the Chaple of King Henry the seventh, her worthy Grandfather of England, France and Ireland King etc. The year of our Lord God. 1578, and in the .20. year of our sovereign Lady Queen, Elizabeth by the grace of God of England, France and Ireland, Queen, defender of the faith. etc.  

Report run on, ring forth thy doleful Bel,  
That worldly wights, may wail our great annoy:  
In Court and Town, our cause of woe do tell,  
That stand distressed bereft of all our joy.  
With care see that, thy skill thou do employ,  
To blaze our luckless hap throughout each land:  
That mortal wights, our gretes may understand.   

And as we wail, so let constraint of pain,  

Lady Margarits grace Daughter to the eldest Daughter of Henrye the .7. now diseased, borne at Harbotell three years before ill may day.  Enforce them weep, to think upon our loss:  
In woeful wise, with us, let them complain,  
That yield of care, to bear the bitter cross.  
Let waves of woe, their minds in anguish toss,  
Let floods of flowing tears, each where be seen:  
To wail this Dame, the Daughter of a Queen.   

In princely place, let Prince and Peers lament,  
Let Noble Lords, and Ladies yield to wail:  
For from the Court a Iwel rich is hent,  
And such a one as to her great avail,  
Deserveth fame, though Death her life do quail,  
Where she might help, she would no harm procure:  
You all can tell, her friendship was most pure.   

A foe to vice and such as vicious were,  
This noble dame continually did rest:  
A friendly heart she did to virtue bear,  
The fruits whereof did flourish in her breast.  
To rich and poor true friendship she professed,  
Her words with deeds confirmed were each hour:  
Then nobles all lament this fragrant flower.   

Cast of your silks, your coastly robes forbear,  
Abandon joy, let mirth an exile be:  
Vouchsafe a while your mourning weeds to wear,  
Beweep this dame borne of so high degree.  
A royal prince, Henry the seventh even he,  
Of England, France, and Ireland, famous king,  
Her Gran-syre was consider you this thing.   

Her Lady mother's grace, that Margarit height,  
Of Scotland was, whilom the crowned queen:  
And sister to, the eight Henry by right,  
Whole flowering fame in England shineth green.  
Al●ed by birth this gem was to our queen,  
Then noble states, mind you her blood and birth:  
And help with tears to bring her to the earth.   

Sand forth your sobes, let floods fall from your eyes,  
This gracious gem, this pearl of prize beweep:  
And in your hearts, of Livinox that Countess wise,  
For virtue vouch, a true record to keep.  
And though her corpses in earth lie closed deep,  
Consent to make memorial of her name:  
That conquereth death by force of worthy fame.   

Her love to God was always faithful found,  
Her life she led in loyalty and awe:  
On truth she stayed, to prince her troth was sound,  
And stood in dread for to transgress the law.  
Infortune fell could not her heart with draw,  
From God nor prince, her thought could never change,  
Ne was her love to country shown as strange.   

Then Britain's kind that sit in honours stall,  
Forget not you, to bid this dame adieu:  
And you in court, that meanest are of all,  
With tears prepare, your loving friend to rue.  
Whilst life she joyed she was a friend to you,  
Her heart was meek and humble to the end:  
Just 'cause you have to weep so good a friend.   

You suitors poor, have lost a Margarit dear,  
A precious pearl, the pillar of your trust:  
Who willing was, your due demands to hear,  
And to the prince to further causes just.  
Think on this Phoenix rare of right you must,  
Whose want, with woe vouchsafe a time to wail,  
Her shrine remains, her presence you do fail.   

In wedlocks right, whilst she possessed life,  
This peerless dame most dutiful was found:  
Unto her worthy spouse she was a constant wife,  
Faith knit loves knot, truth was her trusty ground  
Two sons she had most fit to be renowned  

Henrye King of Scots. her eldest son.  The one of Scots the diadem did wear:  
Whose fatal sign is known to every ●are.   

Whilst he as prince did bear the royal sway,  
The commons hearts most curtuously he won:  
But treason false in cankered hearts did stay,  
And traitors fierce to work his spoil begun.  
Yet weldeth now the sceptre (there) his son,  
Whose death did nip this Countess to the gall:  
Yet did she joy, his seed was safe from thrall.   

Her other son Lord Charles that worthy wight,  
Espoused she see, whose seed she did embrace:  
Yet death in time bereft him from her sight,  
Whose want in her a double dole did place.  
Twixt these extremes yet did this Lady's grace,  
Use patience sweet to salve her inward grief:  
And praised God that was her comfort chief.   

But as their race the course of time ware out,  
And they to death constrained were to bend:  
So to her state (Time) his compass coursed about,  
And touched her corpses with sickness sharp in end.  
In which by faith on Christ she did depend,  
Whose only blood she did affy and trust:  
By faith should purge, her sin and make her just.   


Lord Charles her son, Earl of Livinox buried at hackney  Her hope was heaven, this world she did detest,  
And when that death began to draw full nigh:  
To bear his stroke she patience pure possessed,  
And unto heaven for safeguard sweet did fly.  
She unto God with heart and mind did cry,  
Preserve our queen and bless this little land:  
Her foes confounded with thy out stretched hand.   

This done she bids the noble Pears adieu,  
She takes her leave of friends and servants all:  
My time is come, I take my leave of you,  
The fruit that's ripe, is soonest apt to fall.  
And though to death my body now be thrall,  
I die, to live in heaven with Christ my love:  
And hope to rest with his elect above.   

This said, her breath forthwith began to fail,  
And fading life, inclines to draw to end:  
She leaves this world unto her great avail,  
For jesus Christ is found her surest friend.  
From danger great, her soul he doth defend,  
Sin is defaced by virtue of his blood:  
And he alone hath done this Countess good.   


Wife & Lady to the lord Charles Earl of Livinox  Her Daughter dear that loving Lady kind,  
Her Gracesse death to mourn is ready priest:  
The Lady young that nature hath asind,  
As yet for food to claim the Nurses breast.  
Even as it can with sorrow is possessed,  
And Scotland's King, his Grandames death doth moon:  

Charles King of Scotland▪  In Court and Town a cause of care is shown.   

Her servants all beweep her noble grace,  
The poor each where, her loss with tears lament  
From whom no time she once would turn her face  
Her heart and hand they say, each hour was bend.  
Their need to help, and Hackney doth assent,  
with wring hands to wail this worthies wrack  
That gave them food and clad the naked back.   

But what can tears or piercing plaints prevail,  
Her time was come, and death hath cut her down:  
Three score, three years she lived till death did quail,  
The life of her most worthy high renown.  
And now her head of life hath got the Crown,  
Her blessed soul before the heavenly king:  
Doth hymen's of joy with saints & Angels sing.   Vivit post funera virtus. 
Finis.  
I Phillips   

 

   

Imprinted at London for Edward White and are to be sold at the little North door of Paul's at the Sign of the 〈◊〉 ·