THE LIFE and DEATH of Thomas Wolsey Cardinal.  
Divided into three parts:  

His Aspiring,  
His Triumph, and  
His Death.   
By Thomas Storer Student of Christ-church in Oxford.  
At London Printed by Thomas Dawson. 1599   

To the Worshipful M. john Howson, Chaplain to her Majesty.  

BAse Vulcan's crown with Laurel to adorn,  
That still stands plodding by his Anvils side,  
Would make the silly smith be laughed to scorn,  
And wiser heads the foolish gift deride.   

Even so some Thrasoes fancy to have fed,  
With Muse's flowers that know not what they be,  
Had been to bring Silenus' Ass a bed,  
That understands a rhyme as well as he.   

Which made me consecrate this verse of mine  
To him, that can with judgement read the same,  
Yet stand not too praecize on every line.  
But rather such a web as I could frame  
In slender lines, yet slender as they be,  
My Muse Arachne-like presents to thee.    

Ad Thomam Storerrum de suo Tho: Wolsaeo Hendecasyllabi.  

DUm tu trina tui Storerre fata  
Wolsaei triplici canis libello,  
Ortus quis celebrem tulit Iwentam,  
Incrementa viristetêre quanta,  
Occasus Sene qualis est potitus:  
Quaeres cunque bonum queant in usum  
De quôis hominum statunotari,  
Pertrectare tuum satis videtur  
Diverso unum elegans stylo Poêma.  
Quid dicam? magis es Storerre vates,  
Tutam magnifico pius parenti?  
An Wolsaee tuus cinis beatus,  
Quem tot post hyemes recens tepentem  
Hic nostro genitus poeta in aevo,  
Grata mente, sacrâ reponit urnâ,  
Argento meliore, item lapillis,  
Et gemmis pretiosiore, ferro,  
Nec non aere perenniore cuncta  
Mausolaea supra; Poesis urna est  
Non de fossa ferens humo recondi,  
Nec per secla situ premi futuros  
Informi metuens apud nepotes.  
Haec est, ingenij memor character,  
Aeterna haec notaposteris dicata  
Quâ serinimium licet priorem●  
Wolsaeum recolent tamen recenti,  
Famâ, par meritis quod est duorum:  
Et Thomae scio Maximi Patroni,  
Et Thomae reor optimi Poetae,  
Plusquam corpore, sic valentis arte.   
VT NOS unda.   

Prosopopoeia Wolseij.  

FOrtunae auspicibus nostrae non immemor ipse  
Templa Deo, Musis maenia constitui.  
justa nec abrupti surgunt in culmina muri,  
Contigerat summum vita nec ipsa gradum.  
Par eademque mei est aevique operisque ruina;  
Par iterumque mihi vita operique datur.  
Musa quidem haec nostras imitata est penè ruin●●,  
Et iacuit longo semisepulta situ.  
Nunc tamen eripuit foedis me, seque tenêbris.  
Haecque Amphionio maenia forte modo  
Restituat, Citharam si intenderet altiùs; at quae  
Speret ab ingratis proemia temporibus?  
Ruderibus sed vive tuis domus inclita vive  
Vate tuo, & truncum tolle sub astra caput.  
Nulla tuam valeat premere inde ruina ruinam,  
Nulla meam. Cineristant bene facta suo.   
Eduardus Michelborne.   

De Wolseide, & Momo.  

LEgerat Aoniam nuper Wolseida Momu▪;  
Cumque nihil toto viderat esse libro,  
In quo liventi genuinum frangeret ore,  
Talibus ora ferox soluit hiulca modis;  
Hà malè! Quem versu morientem inducit, eundem  
Aeternùm versu utuere Musafacit.    

Thomae Wolsaei & Reginaldi Poli Cardinal. Angl. comparatio.  

LIs erat an maior Polus, an Wolsaeus uterque,  
Magnus, Cardinei splendor uterque chori:  
Tempora purpureo redimitus uterque Galero,  
Infula cum lauru cinxit utrique comam:  
Ausoniâ triplici cingendus uterque Tiarâ,  
Si suus ex merito quemque maneret honos:  
Hinc cumulos Wolsaeus opum; Polus inde parentes,  
Hic Proauûm laudes iactat, & ille suas:  
Alter Romanos, patrios habet alter honores,  
Ingenio Vlsaeus maior, at arte Polus.  
Tu litem, Storere, secas, super alta ferendo  
Sydera Wolsaeum laud, superque Polum.   
Carolus Fitzgeofridus Latiforensis.   


COnceits true Storer, when I viewed of late,  
Thy new-born Wolsey, while he did remain  
As in the matrice, yet inanimate,  
An imperfected embryon of thy brain.   

O how my fearful thoughts misaugured,  
Lest Wolsey like the work himself did frame,  
Should ever thus stand inaccomplished,  
Which none dare end, save who began the same!   

But now, although thy work be so perfected,  
As that no prouder vaunting Muse can mend it,  
And though the stately frame by him erected,  
Lies still imperfect, while no hand dares end it.  
Yet thine thus ended doth with his agree,  
That thine, like his, shall never ended be.    

Aliud.  

WHile Fortune yet did Wolsey's state uphold,  
Living he framed himself a costly tomb:  
To girt with marble crown, the longing mould  
Proud of the treasure that it should enwombe.   

Yet never did that monument invest  
The naked temples of his barehead grave:  
And death which him of life first dispossessed,  
Was dispossessed of what itself should have.   

But wherefore did the heavens his ghost this wrong,  
Thus of his duest honour to deprive him?  
They knew his grave should not obscure him long,  
There should a Muse, they had in Store revive him.  
Tombs are for dead men; not for Wolsey then,  
Whom thou hast made immortal with thy pen.   
Charles Fitz-Geffrey.   


WHen Wolsey died me seems the sun did set,  
And that his glory with himself did wain;  
But since his death another did beget,  
Which lends him help, his life to reobtain,  
One sun did set, but two do rise again:  
Cease you that want admire the stars alone,  
Your eyes have now enough to gaze upon.   

Shine Wolsey; cause the world to wonder still,  
And thou true sun of great Apollo shine,  
The world with thy conceited volumes fill,  
Smooth Tasso, and the famous 
* Petrarcke  Florentine,  
Their garlands now to thee do both resign,  
Laura that green hath slourish'd all this while,  
Lies blasted now at the thunder of thy style.   
Thomas Michelborne.   

¶ To the Author, of the life and death of T. W. Cardinal.  

THus long a slave to Silence hast thou served,  
Break out (O Muse) into thy first assays.  
Was therefore this mine infant verse reseru'de,  
In fatal darkness to record thy praise,  
O Wit divine, that hast so well deserved  
The fruitful garland of eternal Bays?  
Then let thy Fame erect my drooping eyes,  
And by thy praise begin myself to rise.   

Let me while Eagle-wise thou mounts on height,  
Be as thy shade with lowly carriage,  
And whiles above thou spread'st with piercing flight  
Proud Wolsey's life; let me in humble rage  
Condemn the world below, that wanting light,  
Seeth brightsome candles burn upon her stage,  
Till vital humour faileth to sustain them,  
Yet (Niggard!) gives no matter to maintain them.   

There was a time, when Laureates in their cell,  
Divinely ravished, wrote those tragic plays,  
That after should in lofty Buskin swell;  
Whiles they with huge applause, and frolic bays,  
(Their learn'de ambitious brows beseeming well)  
Sat proudly tickled with the people's praise:  
And from th'indulgent Consuls wondering hand,  
Extort a rich reward, and Laurel band.   

It was the worlds first youth that ware the Sock,  
And wanton Myrtill ensign of her sport,  
That had the force to move a senseless block  
To gentle laughter, and by force extort  
Sweet tears of mirth, even from the stubborn look,  
Of men obdurate and unfeeling sort:  
So sharp and piercing were those wits of old:  
" No whetstone give's a better edge than Gold.   

Virgil that with his twofold oaten reed,  
Then with his thrise-admired Cornet sings,  
Had great Augustus' patron of his deed,  
And sweet Maecenas sprung from grandsire Kings,  
Whiles he their names from death, they him from need,  
With mutual freedom one another brings:  
" Where Virtue doth for Learning honour frame,  
" There thankful Learning adds to Virtue fame.   

Our age, an aged world, even doting old,  
That like a miser with a cureless gout,  
Hugs on those heaps that never may be told:  
So 'mong that greedy and promiscuous rout,  
Ere one Maecenas spread the salve of gold,  
Our bleare-eyde Horace's may look them out:  
A speech long said, but not performed before,  
That Homer and the Muses stand at door.   

Great patrons give us leave their brass to guild,  
And from deserved grave dead names to raise,  
Crowning Minerva for her spear and shield  
With golden wreath, her book with only bays,  
Because they think that fit for the field,  
And men of learning well repaid with praise:  
They give the spur of praise, but add the rain  
And curb of want, to check them back again.   

And so with spur of praise are Poets paid,  
Their muse, their labour and industrious art,  
That rightly spur-galled they may be said.  
But if in equal balance of desert,  
Gentle ungentle, men with men were weighed,  
Not poizing men by birth, but by their parts:  
Their virtues of their mind, their wit and words,  
Kings were but Poets, Poets more than Lords.   

And thou sweet Storer that in golden twine,  
Hast lively portrayed out our Cardinal,  
Showing the course of providence divine,  
That lets high mounters catch the greater fall;  
Worthy was he to change for that of thine,  
And thou for thy desert his priestly pal:  
Thou his, for well employing of thy Muse,  
He thine, for his great fortunes great abuse.   

As if a second Nembroth came to rear  
Proud Babel towers, that in their ruins lie,  
His buildings taught (as his ambition) were,  
To have none end nor measure till the sky:  
Had Wolsey laid his first foundation there,  
And made his turret's spire to God on high,  
His name, himself, his virtuous deeds and all,  
Had not been subject to their hideous fall.   

O see how widdow-like (poor soul!) she stands,  
That college he began with curious frame,  
So left, (though not without demain and lands)  
As bush or ensign of her bvilder's shame;  
Which though he reared, with his ambitious hands,  
I dare not call him Founder of the same:  
How can he be of Christ-Church Founder deemed,  
That of Christ's church no member is esteemed?   

And yet as though to recompense the fall  
And want of walls, that never were erect,  
See how the greatest Architect of all  
Rebuildes the same, and in a dear respect,  
Hath placed a reverend steward, that doth call,  
The painful builders, and their work direct:  
By whom true labours have their due regard,  
And well-deserving letters finds reward.   

And so the ruins that our house before,  
So deeply blemished with defect of stones,  
Now far more glorious, far triumphant more,  
Is made by sweet supply of learned ones,  
That daily takes increase by daily store  
And careful nursing of her toward sons,  
So flourish still, and still increase thy fame,  
And make thyself by deed, thyself by name.   

Among the Series of this learned train,  
O Storer live, and grace them with thy wit:  
Redeem thy name, nor enviously contain  
Thy thoughts, that with applause thou mayst commit  
Unto the press; so thine admired vain,  
Shall keep thee from thy grave and darksome pit:  
When (as thy Wolsey) volumes thou shalt frame,  
That shall (thou dead) immortalize thy name.   

May therefore this be propagated well,  
Then bless posterity, and sow the seed,  
And use thy sweeter Muse, that then shall smell  
Full like a Rose, in midst of many a weed,  
And sound abroad thy praises as a bell,  
Unto those postern ages, that shall need  
Another Storer, in their wanting times,  
To tell the worth of these thy piercing rhymes.   
johannes Sprint aedis Christi.   


Wolseius aspirans.  

Between two Muses in the deep of night,  
There sat a reverend Father full of woe,  
They gazed on him, and from that dismal sight,  
A kind remorse was willing them to go,  
But cruel Fortune would not have it so:  
Fortune that erst his pride had overthrown,  
Would have her power by his misfortune known.   

Where fruitful Thames salutes the learned shore,  
Was this grave Prelate and the Muses placed;  
And by those waves he builded had before,  
A royal house with learned Muses graced,  
But by his death unperfect and defaced,  
O blessed walls, and broken towers (quoth he)  
That never rose to fall again with me.   

To thee first sister of the learned nine,  
Historians goddess, Patroness of Fame,  
Entombing worthies in a huing shrine,  
Celestial Clio, Clio peerless dame,  
My stories, truth, and triumph I will frame:  
My stories simple truth, if ought remain,  
every my legend with thy sacred vain.   

The sad discourse of my untimely fall  
(O tragic Muse) shall pierce thy sullen ears  
Melpomene, though nothing can appall  
Thy heart obdurate in contempt of fears,  
My my laments shall make thee write in tears,  
If 'mong thy scrolls of antic majesty,  
Thou deign to place a Prelate's tragedy.   

Perchance the tenor of thy mourning verse  
May lead some pilgrim to my toomblesse grave,  
Where neither marble monument nor hearse  
The passengers attentive view may crave,  
Which honours now the meanest persons have:  
But well is me where e'er my ashes lie,  
If one tear drop from some religious eye.   

Yet when by means of Princes gracious doom  
I ruled the Church, where aged Wainflet lay,  
Zealous I was unto my Founder's tomb;  
My thankful love did faithful tribute pay  
To him now dead, whose living was my stay:  
His ancient relics were as dear to me,  
As Prince's looks, or parents love might be.   

Thrice sweet remembrance of that holy man,  
Reverend erector of those stately tow'res,  
That worthy College where my youth began,  
In human Arts to spend the watchful hours;  
That fruitful nursery, where heavenly show'res  
To me poor country-plant such grace did yield,  
As soon I proved the fairest of the field.   

As rightly called, as royally comprised,  
For that repentant woman's name it bears,  
Who meekly for our saviours feet devised  
A double bath of ointment and of tears  
Wherewith she washed, then wiped them with her hairs:  
With precious savour here for aye endures  
And tempered spirits with holy breath repures.   

Still flourish O our Athens second praise,  
Full of religion, and of pregnant wits,  
That to high place of dignity dost raise,  
So many a sweet divine that mitred sits,  
In sacred see as men of God befits:  
" For Arts best nurse is honours chaste desire,  
" And Glory sets all studious hearts on fire.   

This greedy flame together with my youth,  
(Two never fit companions for advice,)  
No'r teaching right from wrong, deceit from truth,  
Nor shows from substance, toys from things of price,  
Laid down my heart a living sacrifice  
On honours altar where it burned bright,  
Like Vesta's fire with an eternal light.   

This silver tongue (me thought) was never made,  
With rhetoric skill to teach each common swain,  
These deep conceits were never taught to wade,  
In shallow brooks, no'r this aspiring vain,  
Fitto converse among the shepherds train:  
I could not girt me like a worthless groom,  
In courser garment woven of country loom.   

Just cause I saw my titles to advance,  
Virtue my gentry, Priesthood my descent,  
Saints my allies the Cross my cognisance,  
Angels my guard, that watched about my tent,  
Wisdom that ushered me where ere I went:  
These are our honours, though the world withstand,  
Our lands and wealth are in another land.   

Yet as through Tagus' fair transparent streams,  
The wandering Merchant sees the sandy gold,  
Or like as Cynthia'es half obscured beams,  
In silent night the Pilot doth behold  
Through misty clouds and vapours manifold:  
So through a mirror of my hop'te for gain,  
I saw the treasure which I should obtain.   

Then did I my poor country charge resign,  
Where I had lived disgraced and discontent,  
Wronged by a Knight, for no desert of mine,  
But when he deemed my torch of malice spent,  
I made my cleargy-scorning Knight repent:  
For Nature framed my memory quick and strong,  
But most intentive to revenge a wrong.   

Forth as I went, when my desires were tied,  
I was perplexed with thousand sundry minds,  
The swelling Ocean in a stormy tide,  
Was ne'er so tossed with self resisting winds,  
As now my heart itself tormented finds:  
Nought left but Hope, to ease my troubled soul,  
And even that Hope Despair did thus control.   

Wolsey, are these the hopes of thy deserts?  
Are these the fruits of wit? is this to know?  
O vain Philosophy, and bootless arts,  
Such seeds of learned ignorance to sow,  
Where Skills disgrace, and wisdoms folly grow!  
Grow where you list, in me your roots unknit,  
A settled brain is worth a world of wit.   

In Court who ever heard my name before?  
Or hearing it, none knows it I am sure:  
Suppose they do; who cares for me the more?  
Or grant they did; how long will that endure?  
Admit it should; what good may care procure?  
O rather on that homely seat rely,  
Where known and car'de for, thou mayst live and die.   

Seekest thou for fame? he's best that least is known,  
Or Prince's favours? that's no common grant:  
Servest thou for wealth? a Courtier knows his own:  
Or for degree? preferment waxeth scant:  
Want'st thou to live? no hell to Courtiers want:  
O rather yet embrace thy private lot  
With honest fame and riches purely got.   

Each perfect sense must things repugnant do,  
Thy eyes must watch, but never seem to see;  
Thy tongue must brave, but learn to flatter too;  
Thy ears must hear, yet deaf and careless be;  
Affection fast and lose, thoughts bond and free:  
Vain, yet precise; chaste, but to maiden's kind;  
A Saint in sight, a Machivel in mind.   

Thy present calms these stormy waves surpass,  
As pearls indeed the things which precious seem,  
Thy glebe brings corn, thy pasture plenteous grass,  
For thee thy toiling oxen join in team,  
And after with their death thy life redeem.  
Thy sheep (a pleasant flock) their fleeces vail,  
And from their dugs yield nectar to thy pail.   

At home what duty neighbours yield to thee,  
Creeping to others now thou must resign,  
Attend their diet, ever waiting be,  
When with less plenty in a shady vine,  
But greater pleasure thou were't wont to dine:  
Nature hath poured enough in each man's lap,  
Can each man learn to use his private hap.   

But say all wealth and honour me betide,  
And I were borne the only man to rise,  
My King's dear favourite, and country's guide,  
Th'authentic object of all wondering eyes,  
Experience holds the Tragic Poet wise:  
That rather chose 'mong Corsic rocks to dwell,  
Then in the pomp of Caesar's court excel.   

Thus reason sought to stolen ambitions hold,  
Wise Empyricke with twenty truths attended,  
But his enchanted force, all force controlled,  
With privilege and charter long defended,  
'Gainst all invasions till that world were ended:  
Whereon presuming he did thus reprove  
All doubts, and from his seat all fears remove.   

Unthankful man to heaven and heavens creator,  
To men and Angels envious and unkind,  
Burying God's Image, quintessence of Nature,  
virtues perfection, excellence of mind,  
In barbarous woods, and desert fields enshrined:  
When men like trees to sweetest voice ne'er hark,  
Where words of life can pierce their savage bark.   

Long time the princely shepherd did remain,  
Striking his harp in fruitful Palestine,  
But as the sheep, so every shepherd swain,  
Knew not the virtue of his touch divine,  
Till once the Prince his fancy did incline  
To hear him play; then home this child they bring,  
With charming notes to ease the troubled King.   

The Prince's court is mansion of the wise,  
Figure of heaven, fair fountain of delights,  
Theatre of honour, earthly Paradise,  
Sudden advancer, Sphere of purest lights,  
The lively Vatican of beauty's brights:  
Thither let Phoebus' progeny resort,  
Where shines their father but in Ioues great court?   

Let never man endued with sundry graces,  
So sell himself for tithes and trifling gain;  
Nor that rich infinite spirit that embraces,  
This universe in compass of a brain,  
So prostitute her deity, nor restrain  
In narrow limits of a base content,  
Of learned thoughts the boundless continent.   

But since our fairer means seem to invite us,  
By jacobs' ladder to ascend on high,  
Whose every round with pleasure may delight us,  
Why cease we all our studies to apply  
To gain this type? And wherefore linger I?  
With whose heartstrings Amphion's Lute is strung,  
And Orpheus Harp hangs warbling at my tongue.   

Now was I drawn in chariot of Desire,  
While Typhis-like Ambition led the way;  
Arrived at Court, I needed not inquire  
What Lord about the King bore greatest sway;  
Their troops of followers, riches of array,  
Numbers of suitors almost numberless,  
Taught me to know, or somewhat more than guess.   

To please their vain, and be myself admired,  
I cast my learning in a Courtier's mould;  
My scholarship and carriage both conspired  
T'appeach their wrong, that most injurious hold  
Such men unfit, to have their names enrolled  
In place of note, or handle things of weight,  
That spend their time in contemplations height.   

Frame to yourselves imaginary courts,  
(O piercing spirits inflamed with heavenly fire)  
Kings Mathematic, counterfeit resorts,  
Portraites of justice, shadows of desire,  
Such airy castles as conceits inspire,  
Such commonwealths as Plato did uphold,  
Administering booke-iustice uncontrolled.   

Such heavens, such planets, and such whirling spheres,  
The Syracusan wizard did invent,  
Wherein the curious workmanship appears  
Of their first mover, and did represent,  
The wondrous fabric of the firmament:  
If heavens and common wealths may be so shown,  
The courts estate much easier may be known.   

These fancies I had framed long before,  
Deeming myself my fortune's architect;  
Now care solicited me ten times more,  
To bring those meditations to effect,  
And so my wary counsel to direct,  
As might content the pillar of my state,  
That next in counsel to his soveraignesate.   

A man made old to teach the worth of age,  
Patriarke-like, and grave in all designs,  
One that had finished a long pilgrimage,  
Sparing in diet, abstinent from wines,  
His sinews small as threads, or slender lines:  
Lord of the city, where with solemn rites,  
The old Prince Arthur feasted with his Knights.   

He saw my gifts were such as might deserve,  
He knew his life was drawing to an end,  
He thought no means so likely to preserve  
His fame, with time and envy to contend,  
As to advance some faithful serving friend,  
That living might in time to come record,  
Th'immortal praise of his deceased Lord.   

He brought me first in presence of the King,  
Who then allotted me his Chaplains place;  
My eloquence did such contentment bring  
Unto his ears that never Prince did grace  
Poor Chaplain more, nor lowly priest embrace  
" Dread sovereign so. For Nature teacheth ever,  
" Who loves preferment, needs must love the giver.   

Next who but I was sent Ambassador,  
With Europe's greatest Monarch to entreat,  
Caesar of Almain Germane Emperor,  
In Belgia keeping his imperial seat,  
To handle matters of importance great:  
My hap was such the King could hardly guess,  
Which pleased him more, my speed, or good success.   

The Argonauticke vessel never passed,  
With swifter course along the Colchan main,  
Then my small bark with fair and speedy blast  
Conveyed me forth, and reconuayd again;  
Thrice had Arcturus driven his restless wain,  
And heavens bright lamp, the day had thrice reviv'd,  
From last departure, till I first arrived.   

The King not deeming I had yet been gone,  
Was angry for my long surmized delay;  
I told his Majesty that all was done,  
And more than all, and did his pardon pray  
That I beyond commission went astray;  
And could have wished for ever to be chid  
With answer to content as then I did.   

'tis not huge heaps of figurative devices,  
Nor luxury of metaphors or phrases,  
Nor fineness of connexion that entices  
Court-learned ears, and all the world amazes,  
But depth with pleasure craving all the graces  
Of art and nature, curiously precise,  
Serenely modest, excellently wise.   

It is not learning; for the Courtiers know it,  
Nor folly; but for Councillors most fit,  
Nor grave demeanour; for we must bestow it  
On Lady's toys; nor quintessence of wit,  
For that is most unstaide, nor doth it fit  
With Courtier's majesty to be reputed,  
Too learned, too grave, too fine, or too conceited.   

A skill transcendent over every art,  
Yet subject or essential unto none,  
Unperfect too, yet having every part,  
And thus though strange, unperfect, and but one,  
Yet all admire and reverence it alone:  
Unknown and vndefin'de save in discerning,  
By practice to be got, but not by learning.   

Men pointed out by Fortune for good hap,  
Have from their infancy this gift inspired,  
Promotions fall, as plenteous in their lap,  
As words out of their mouths, thus I acquired,  
The deanery of Lincoln vndesired:  
And then the Almnership, and every hour,  
Some drops distilling of a golden shower.   

As in a burning glass or little sphere,  
Dispersed sunbeams oft united are,  
And in one point beams infinite appear,  
Innumerable rays disjected far,  
From th'oblique circle of that glorious star▪  
So like that instrument I now begun,  
Tunite the favours of our earthly sun.   

New friends unknown, great presents undeserved,  
Old suitors came, held back with long delay,  
And all like poppets when their time was served,  
Gave place to other, and so likewise they,  
Ending their parts, let other actors play:  
No way in all the court so duly tread,  
As was the path which to my lodging led.   

Transplanted thus into a fertile spring,  
And watered from above with heavenly dew,  
Enlightened with the presence of my King,  
My branches waxed large and fair of hue,  
And all about fresh buds of honour grew:  
Garlands of Lordships, blossoms of degree,  
White rods of office, keys of knightly fee.   

Look how the God of Wisdom marbled stands,  
Bestowing Laurel wreaths of dignity  
In Delphos I'll, at whose unpartial hands,  
Hang antic scrolls of gentle Heraldry,  
And at his feet ensigns and trophies lie:  
Such was my state whom every man did follow,  
As living statue of the great Apollo.   

But see, even when my joys did most abound,  
My crowned pillar most untimely fell,  
And I about his shaft like ivy wound,  
That did in pride, as he in height excel,  
Was left behind to hear his heavy knell:  
And sing a Requiem to his soul deceased,  
For I, poor I, lost more than all the rest.   

O hidden doom, of that eternal spirit,  
That sentence gives, the righteous man shall die:  
Injurious death that lets rude souls inherit  
Long leases of their lives, and dost envy  
That Princes live, on whom all states rely.  
And cruel fate that such confusion brings,  
To common wealths by Ostracism of Kings.   

He died, and in memorial of his name,  
Built that fair chapel, where he now takes rest;  
A rich foundation of a curious frame,  
The fairest monument left unsupprest,  
Passing all temples of the gorgeous East:  
O strew his hearse with roses red and white,  
For he both stems did in one bed unite.   

True branch of both, thy father is not dead,  
For in thy look I read his virtuous reign,  
His crown is set on thy victorious head,  
Dead to himself, he lives in thee again,  
His wisdom seated in thy princely brain:  
O were not Times old wings so far outworn,  
But he new crowned, and thou as newly borne!   

But both are gone, and we too soon bereft,  
To better kingdoms both translated are;  
This testimony to the world is left,  
He was the Prince of peace, thou God of war,  
He was a fixed, thou a wandering star:  
seven is a number fatal from the heavens,  
But eight King Henry passing all the seu'ns.   

He came of noble, thou of Kingly race,  
He brought to win, thou borne to wear a crown;  
He got great wealth, thou honour didst embrace;  
He kept his own, thou conquer'st many a town;  
He house's built, thou batterdst cities down:  
O worthies both! and unsufficient me,  
To mourn for him, or speak enough of thee.   

Then for myself whom wisdom never taught,  
To seek for gold in coffins of the dead,  
My deep contriving policy so wrought,  
That in his youthly reign my dearest dread,  
Me to his sacred counsel did aread:  
Where all estates in open court did find,  
The lively vigour resting in my mind.   

When I did muse, my spirit did wholly bear,  
His full perfection to enrich my thought;  
What time I spoke, my life was wholly there,  
And to my speech all grace and beauty brought:  
What praise soever any member sought,  
That God (whom we call soul) sprung from our heart.  
Was all in all, and all in every part.   

What matters passed in private conference,  
Or public counsel for the common good,  
I still informed his sacred excellence,  
Framing my sentence to his princely mood,  
His word, my deed, his will, my warrant stood:  
Nor need his grace one jot of pleasure spare,  
His royal grant, in person to declare.   

Enough said I your highness doth in this,  
To make us laws that in subjection dwell,  
Let Magistrates correct what is amiss;  
Such nobles as in wisdom most excel,  
Advance to place where they may govern well:  
And as you do your kingdoms glory prize,  
Of all your land, select the learned wise.   

For if the temperature of common weal,  
Be guided by the course of heavenly powers,  
Such as in deep affairs will justly deal,  
Must have an eye to those aeternal bow'res,  
And by their view direct this state of ours:  
Else how can he a perfect statesman prove,  
That knows not how celestial bodies move?   

How can he mark religions steadfast pole,  
How many long degrees we distant are?  
How laws of justice compass in the whole  
Like orb of fixed lights, or note from far,  
A feigned meteor from a fixed star:  
How dark eclipsed truth is never seen,  
When worlds corrupting treasure comes between.   

When wise Magicians wandered far and wide,  
To find the place of our Messiah birth,  
A star by east, became their faithful guide,  
Angels proclaiming notes of joyful mirth,  
Glory to God on high, and peace on earth:  
While here I paused, the King with smiling cheer,  
Bade me proceed, for he was bend to hear.   

Dread sovereign, I intent not to detract  
From noble families their ancient rights;  
Ill fares the ship whose lofty tops be wracked,  
Whole Empires fall where such confusion lights,  
Long life and honour to S. George's Knights:  
" Yet this I read, that realm shall fairest rise,  
" Where wise men rule, or Rulers can be wise.   

Put such in trust your grace may rest secure,  
And sway the sceptre with immortal praise,  
Whether you please your royal self immure,  
In city walls triumphing sundry ways,  
Or else in progress spend the summer days:  
What hath the air, the sea, the land, and all,  
That is not yours, or subject at your call?   

Scholar (said he) thou knowst my kingdoms state,  
And canst with pleasure painful travels brook,  
I'll prise thy service at the highest rate,  
Performing that which thou hast undertook,  
For Lordly rents, I'll change thy Easter book:  
Good priest whose son so ere thou art by kind,  
Wolsey of Ipswich ne'er begat thy mind.   

Soon after this the King with mighty host,  
In person meant to enter warlike France,  
To challenge what his ancestors had lost,  
On Turney gates his standard to advance,  
And in their courts, to make our courtiers dance▪  
Which unacquainted labour to supply,  
He thought no subject was so fit as I.   

He might as well appoint some artless swain,  
In Pytheas place to build Mausolus' tomb;  
To rear th' Egyptian Pyramids again,  
Restore the ruins of declining Rome,  
Or put some shepherdess to Arachne's loom:  
As me a student and a young divine,  
To furnish out a camp, no charge of mine▪   

But now the sweetness of promotions taste,  
Delightsome prospect to the tower of fame,  
Such skill in my unmartial wits had placed,  
As would not only just proportion frame,  
Of men, and fit munition for the same:  
But bring from rocks where flinty sinews stood,  
Whole stony legions of Deucalion's brood.   

Imagine Turney vanquished by the King,  
With Turwins' walls and all the cozened land:  
Ill winds they are that good to no man bring,  
Worse wars that suffer not the churches stand,  
My wind blew fair, the church fell in my hand,  
That was elect and consecrated soon,  
Bishop of Turney when the wars were done.   

A sweet preferment, for it was my first;  
A strange advancement in another Realm;  
A pleasant draft to quench ambition's thirst;  
A joyful note to wake me from my dream;  
A fruitful spring, to send so fair a stream:  
What man but me could fortune thus advance,  
In peace, in war, in England, and in France?   

My solemn consecration being ended,  
And holy mitre placed on my head,  
With falling mists the darksome night extended  
Her sable wings, and gently overspread  
Heavens gloomy vail, whence Phoebus' lamp was fled:  
Dead time of rest to every mortal wight,  
No music to the silence of the night.   

To cheerful minds that bringeth wanton sleep,  
With many a Phantasm and deluding toy,  
And pensive heart it doth detain and keep,  
From tedious company that would annoy,  
Dull Saturnists that have abjured all joy:  
To me whose day was all in pleasure spent,  
This wondrous vision it did represent.   

From that rich valley where the Angels laid him,  
His unknown sepulchre in Moabs' land,  
Moses that Israel led and they obeyed him,  
In glorious view before my face did stand,  
Bearing the folded tables in his hand:  
Wherein the doom of life, and death's despair,  
By Gods own finger was engraven fair.   

He passing forth, a joyful troup ensued,  
Of worthy judges and triumphant Kings,  
Victorious josuah that in arms subdued,  
Profane usurpers of their hallowed things,  
And smote their leaders, breaking all their wings:  
With him as joining hearts with meek consent,  
Princes of Israel and of juda went.   

Next whom with solemn note of trumpets sound,  
The tabernacle of the Lord was brought,  
About it holy Priests assembled round,  
With sacred Ephods, girdles richly wrought,  
Such garments as the Lord had Aaron taught;  
With warbling harp, and crownet on his head,  
The ghost of David lofty measures lead.   

To these in order all the Prophets came,  
Mysterious prophets, clothed in poor array;  
Pronouncing oft jehovah's dreadful name,  
Crying to Zion; Learn, O learn the way,  
Your desolation hasteneth every day:  
These were refused, for none regarded them  
In all the daughters of jerusalem.   

The next in rank were holy Martyrs bleeding,  
Whose every wound in perfect glory shines:  
Then they which wrote our saviours just proceeding,  
His life and death in everlasting lines:  
And last of all, the best of all divines,  
To whom deep mysteries of things concealed,  
At Pathmos I'll in vision were revealed.   

Now from th' ethereal palace of her rest,  
In perfect semblance they appeared to me:  
But O my soul how are thy powers oppressed,  
That sleeping saw'st, and waking canst not see?  
O God if so thy gracious pleasure be,  
Such beauty be revealed to mortal men,  
Direct, O soon direct my wandering pen.   

In chariot framed of celestial mould,  
And simple pureness of the purest sky,  
A more than heavenly Nymph I did behold,  
Who glancing on me with her gracious eye,  
So gave me leave her beauty to espy:  
For sure no sense such sight can comprehend,  
Except her beams their fair reflection lend.   

Her beauty with Eternity began,  
And only unto God was ever seen,  
When Eden was possessed with sinful man,  
She came to him, and gladly would have been,  
The long succeeding worlds eternal Queen:  
But they refused her (O heinous deed!)  
And from that garden banished was their seed.   

Since when, at sundry times and sundry ways,  
Atheism and blinded ignorance conspire,  
How to obscure those holy burning rays,  
And quench that zeal of heart-inflaming fire,  
As makes our souls to heavenly things aspire:  
But all in vain, for maugre all their might,  
She never lost one sparkle of her light.   

Pearls may be foiled, and gold be turned to dross,  
The sun obscured, the moon be turned to blood,  
The world may sorrow for Astraeas loss,  
The heavens be darkened like a dusky wood,  
Waste deserts lie where watery fountains stood:  
But fair Theology (for so she hight,)  
Shall never lose one sparkle of her light.   

Such one she was as in his Hebrew song,  
The wisest King for fairest creature proves▪  
Embracing her the Cedar trees among,  
Comparing her to roses and to doves,  
Preferring her before all other loves:  
Such one she was, and every whit as fair,  
Beside these two, was never such a pair.   

Her handmaids in Amazon-like attire,  
Went chaste and modest like Diana's train,  
One, by her gazing looks seemed to aspire  
Beyond the moon, and in a high disdain,  
To deem the world, and worldly treasures vain:  
She hight Astrology, on whose bright lawn,  
Spheres, Astrolabes, and skilful globes are drawn.   

The next fair, smiling with a pleasing cheer,  
Had power to ravish and enchant men's ears,  
High Rhetoric whose shadowed vail shown clear,  
With silver tongues, and over it she wears  
A wimpled scarf bedewed with hearer's tears:  
Whose captive hearts she should detain long while,  
With pleasance of her unaffected style.   

The third a quicke-eyd dame, of piercing sight,  
That reasons worth in equal balance weighed;  
The truth she loved above all earthly wight,  
Yet could not tell her love but what she said,  
Was certain true, and she a perfect maid:  
Her garment short tucked up, to work prepared,  
And she called Logic without welt or guard.   

Next these, whose outward looks I knew aright,  
And had some portion of their endless treasure,  
Fair Algebra with figures richly dight;  
Sweet Music foundress of delightsome pleasure;  
Earth-scanning Nymph, directress of all measure:  
These humbly did her sovereign highness greet,  
And meekly laid their garlands at her feet.   

From every one she plucked a special flower,  
And laid each flower upon a several part;  
Then from her own a stem of wondrous power,  
Whose leaves were beams, whose stalk a fiery dart,  
And that she laid upon my trembling heart:  
Those were the buds of art, this plant of bliss,  
This gave them life, they yielded grace to this.   

Opening the closure of her speech divine,  
My sweetly-ravisht sense she thus bespoke,  
Now Prelate art thou placed in Gods dear vine,  
To heavenly thoughts thy studies whole betake:  
And when thou shalt from drowsy sleep awake,  
Thank these my handmaids that have thought thee fit,  
To whom the charge of souls I might commit.   

To thee the charge of souls I here commit,  
Of sheep and shepherds both take oversight;  
If thou for gain the greater charge omit,  
Or lose one title of the churches right,  
Or less esteem God's word then Kingly might;  
Mingling religious book with honours mace,  
Leaving God's favour for the prince's grace:   

If thou by false pretence procure this wrong,  
(What may not learned iniquity procure?)  
Thy name shall die the vulgar sort among,  
Proscript and abject from those father's pure,  
Whose memory for ever shall endure:  
Oblivion and disgrace upon thy grave,  
Shall write their triumph, and thy name deprave.   

This said, her Martyrs drew her chariot on,  
Through unknown passage of the blasting air,  
And now to Abraham's bosom is she gone,  
Commanding all her Nymphs and handmaids fair,  
To these sweet waves, and pleasant banks repair:  
And I, though full of care, and vexed in mind,  
took ship for England with a prosperous wind.   

Welcome my Lord of Turney said the King,  
Two Dukes with two as scornful looks passed by,  
A young French Bishop seemed so base a thing  
To such great noble things that look so high,  
As made me wonder at divinity:  
That she the nearest to the King of Kings,  
Should be debased by any thing of things.   

Say I were young, my lively spirits were fit,  
To grow in wisdoms ever-blowing spring,  
Or say ambitious, that's a mark of wit,  
To bear our thoughts aloft on eagle's wings,  
And wit to youth especial grace doth bring:  
I hate such lingering wisdom as appears,  
In hoary cognisance of ancient years.   

Say all the world th'abundance of their mind,  
And speak of Wolsey all the wrong they can,  
I say the world is envious and unkind,  
The multitude ere since the world began,  
Was ready to reprove the justest man,  
Who rightly climbs the top of endless praise,  
Regards not what the wise discourser says.   

Object they Turney, I devised a way  
To compass Lincoln or some other see,  
Admire they this; I found a blissful day,  
In primacy of York installed to be;  
Such happy fortune still betided me,  
That when they envied at my mean estate,  
I got some greater to confound their hate.   

Each sense may common objects comprehend,  
Things excellent the sensitive confound,  
The eye with light and colours may contend,  
The ear endure the note of common sound,  
Both fail when glorious beams loud strokes abound:  
So envy that at meanest things bear spite,  
Stands mute at view of unexpected height.   

The peers that hated me were now content,  
With me their former friendship to renew,  
Who sought by me to purchase government,  
And learn of me that thus in greatness grew.  
O But the Italian Florentine said true:  
The man furthereth other men to thrive,  
Of private greatness doth himself deprive.   

Failing to hit the mark whereat I aim,  
They take the least rupulse in deep disgrace,  
And never ceased with fury to exclaim  
Against my name, and odiously debase,  
My birth, my parents, and ungentle race:  
Unnobly done, which though I not respect,  
Yet unto them, themselves I might object.   

Where are the gifts whose ensigns ye pretend,  
O dull inheritors of others praise?  
The virtues that your lordly arms commend,  
And crowned your ancients with immortal bays?  
Amiss fair Fortitude her coat displays:  
Where such as never durst maintain the field,  
May bear a lion armed in their shield.   

Thou fourfold goddess, that hast stemmed thy crown,  
With wisdom, valour, temperance, and right,  
Place by thy sides those Heroes of renown,  
That temperate justice with discretions might;  
Let Heraldry provide in honours sight,  
That such as are with father's goods possessed,  
Retain their virtues, or resign their crest.   

Fine scholars borne of Pallas heavenly brain,  
As she of Ioues, have purchased this decree,  
From meaner Princes in their several reigns,  
Dukes, Vidams, Barons, such as bravest be,  
To muse of things that nobles do not see:  
When their reward, though they be well regarded,  
May be to be well thought of, scarce rewarded.   

Which made me, when I once had found the spring,  
Draw from the Fountain where the proudest drew,  
Leaving the counsel, seek unto the King,  
And when my purpose was indeed to sue,  
To sue to him, because I ever knew,  
Suing to Courtiers with our best complaints,  
Like superstitious praying unto Saints.    

Wolseius triumphans.  

CLlio, are all thy sisters scholarlike?  
No courtlike Muse for politic designs?  
And only for Apollo do they strike  
Their instruments to what he most inclines?  
Is this the reason that he ever shines?  
No wonder if the world behold him bright,  
Such Virgins can give oil to any light.   

Then shall no busy burdner of the Press,  
Without a Muse stand rhyming at my ways,  
The more a Novice seeks, he finds the less,  
And sure the less he finds, the less he strays,  
No policy to silence now a days:  
Let him that shall my famous life descry,  
Writ of my Triumphs, let the means go by.   

The glory of my Primacy affords  
Discourse enough (O Time) to spend thine hours,  
Barren invention shall abound with words,  
As Autumn doth with fruits, the spring with flowers,  
Summer with sunbeams, winter time with showers:  
Poets in vain their stratagems devise,  
Wits want makes men desirous to seem wise.   

But as a Sapphire hanging down the breast,  
A far more orient glittering doth make,  
Than doth a Diamond of good request  
Set in a bracelet, and more glory take,  
Not for the virtue, but for the places sake:  
So did a cloudy Sapphire dim my light,  
Not with his worth, but with his places height.   

Grave ancient Warham full of high desert,  
The Eastern Metropolitan of Kent,  
A perfect Levite of a loyal heart,  
Fit for the temple whereto he was sent,  
In all religious orders excellent:  
No fault, but that he would not soon resign  
To me, and his large province change for mine.   

Which fault, my Romish friends had soon espied,  
Their care was fervent Catholic for me,  
Who in their Synod did such means provide  
For my advancement to more high degree,  
As Canterbury should inferior be:  
They chose me Cardinal, but mine own voice,  
Had thought me worthy of an higher choice.   

They chose me Cardinal, and sent a hat,  
What choice? what hat? where was the triple crown?  
A Monmouth man can do as much as that:  
O had his holiness been in a sown,  
Or surfeited, or took some potion down!  
S. Peter's church, S. Angels famous tower,  
The seven hills city had been in my power.   

A second Vatican, a new avignon,  
Another Laterane I could invent,  
For relics, pomp, and church division,  
What had I cared in glory to have spent,  
Mine own, the churches, and the Kings own rent?  
Me thought, if Friends, and Fortune, had been true,  
I could have built all Italy anew.   

Wise Chaplains that had walked a quiet pace,  
Good honest painful Graduates in their kind,  
Told me it was a step to higher place,  
And such a step, as few could ever find,  
A lofty step; and stepping terms refined,  
Step they that doubtful fear to climb on high,  
What need he step hath Wisdoms wings to fly?   

Now missing Clemens crown, I thought to take  
King Henry's Seal, high Chancellor of the land,  
Which secular authority did make  
Me able all their furies to withstand,  
That in their wisdoms had severely scanned:  
A clergy man his calling much impairs,  
To meddle with the politic affairs.   

Then Moses that had all Egyptians skill,  
Whose deepest learning flourished in his days,  
And many priests of juda sinned still,  
That not by justice only purchased praise,  
But practised use of martial assays:  
Some pleas are hard, and many things befall,  
Which privilege or conscience must recall.   

Divine proceed fail, not being backed  
With lawful maintenance of evil sword;  
Endeavours politic take small effect,  
That wants assistance from the heavenly word;  
Beside some help must wealth and state afford:  
For judgement uttered by the mouth of want,  
Is either partial, or admitted scant.   

Thus though my crosses, pillars, and my mace,  
Honoured my person to the common view  
Of such as measure men by outward grace;  
Yet to my several charges being due,  
I might not to succession be untrue:  
Our state is not the Moons, that from her wain▪  
Grows crescent presently, and new again.   

If once we fall, we fall Colossus-like,  
We fall at once like pillars of the sun,  
They that between our stride their sails did strike,  
Making us sea-marks where their ship did run,  
Even they that had by us their treasure won;  
Rise as we may by moderate degrees,  
If once we stoop, they'll bring us on our knees.   

I made my chapel pure devotions seat,  
Meet for the service of the heavenly King,  
The tongues of the most learned did entreat  
Of his decrees, and skilful priests did sing,  
And singing boys use their hearts trebling string:  
Such ornaments are most beseeming us,  
In God's behalf, let noble Peers do thus.   

My household was not like the tent of Love,  
Full of fair damsels, like Venetian bowers,  
Nor of such virgins, whom the spirit doth move,  
No place for sisterhood within my towers,  
Yet every day as many meals as hours:  
Servants and officers in every room,  
And royal fare for strangers when they come.   

Where is that open causey wont to lead  
The hungry beggar to a sheaf of corn?  
Who lets them glean with Ruth, or gives them bread▪  
Who rather feeds not fools, or men forsworn,  
Or else for briefness sake leaves all forlorn?  
See now the parlours of our highest states,  
Are like to painted doors or postern gates.   

Proportion was surucior of my charge,  
Adding to lofty buildings, gardens fair,  
Just with my gains my houses to enlarge,  
Mine usual walks to pleasantness of air,  
Of every thing making an equal pair:  
Planting fair arbours in my forests wide,  
And feasting chambers by the rivers side.   

This loving stream that doth salute the shore,  
In true affection to a scholars eye,  
Even from these banks increaseth more and more,  
Wave tossing over wave most enviously,  
Till flowing tide forbidden her passing by:  
And make them stay, while passengers may see,  
What was begun, and what was done by me.   

Fair Dambie is praised for being wide,  
Nilus commended for the seven fold head,  
Euphrates, for the swiftness of the tide,  
And for the garden whence his course is led;  
The banks of Rhine with vines are overspread:  
Take Loire and Po, yet all may not compare  
With English Thamesis for buildings rare.   

My dreams were nothing but of Memphis still,  
Of Pyramids, of statues carved in gold,  
Hercules' pillars, and Olympus hill,  
My waking fancies too were ever sold,  
Such toys in gazing blindness to behold:  
No strokes of Musics sound could strike away,  
High thoughts by night, nor deep conceits by day.   

A proud man may his own physician be,  
His heads devise makes pavines to his heart,  
This heart with pleasure leaps, and dances free  
All but the measures, framing every part,  
Like Organs worthy of so sweet an art:  
His thoughts plays Marches to his vaulting mind.  
And Memories Recorder sounds behind.   

Pride makes her Rounds, for she hath never end,  
And Sonnets, for she never leaves her noise,  
She makes her Dumps, if any thing offend,  
And to her Idole-selfe with warbling voice,  
Sings Hymns and Anthems of especial choice:  
And yet Pride's quire is put to silence clean,  
Wanting a base, a tenor, and a mean.   

far from the church be these immusical  
Untoward songs that wants so many parts,  
And since that pure religion doth install  
Learned professors, prelate's of deserts,  
Let them aspire and rear instructed hearts,  
Against the base bestowers of church livings,  
That use their grants in sellings, and not in givings.   

For such men are like curtains at their best, 
He meaneth Symoniacke and unlearned ministers   
To make us sleep, or hinder us from light,  
Troublers of Nature, children of the west,  
Haters of sense, adopted sons of night,  
In whom the wise both sorrow and delight:  
Yet were there not such vegetals the while,  
What had the wiser sort whereat to smile?   

O you that bear the courage of divines,  
Hate such men's patronage, engage not Art,  
For who beholds the spoiler of the vines,  
And stands secure, or takes the spoilers part,  
Shall in his conscience feel such deadly smart,  
That when he seeks by scripture to be eased,  
The more he reads, the more he is displeased.   

Renowned Picus of Mirandula  
Hated the substance of a clergy man  
That was unlettered, and made a law,  
An ignorant which never had began  
To seek, or after seeking never skan  
Some part of somewhat, that might wisdom bring,  
Should be accounted but a living thing.   

The noble Tichobraghe for whose dear sake,  
All Denmark is in admirations love,  
In deep regard such difference doth make,  
Between those men whose spirit soar above,  
And those base essenses which only move:  
That in his Isle's horizon he admits,  
No cloudy meteors of such foggy wits.   

On foreign princes I will never stand,  
Sweet Clio pardon, if I do digress,  
The noble Earl, the learned Northumberland,  
Favours you Muses, and he doth address  
His peerless cares, which you must needs express:  
Writ Clio, writ, and that eternally,  
In spite of Muses he shall never die:   

For in his life his praise, and after death  
Thankful remembrance still remains alive,  
So long as Fame's aeternal trump hath breath,  
And time draws time, and these days other drive,  
Or hasty minutes in their swiftness strive:  
While man can speak with man, and virtue praise,  
So long continues his immortal praise   

Princes are mere divines, for they maintain  
The living Gospel of the lively truth,  
Doubly in them God's Image doth remain,  
In high commanding where her mercy showeth  
The future hopes of goodness that ensu'th,  
And then in their creation: Thus two ways  
Princes are bound the Prince of heaven to praise.   

Now to be princely and to be divine,  
I added Winchester to all the rest,  
With sundry others which I held by fine,  
And being once installed in the best,  
Vouchsafed with Abbeys to be so possessed:  
I held this certain sure, and never doubt,  
Abbeys, and bishoprics will not fall out.   

I made them friends, and that they might continue,  
I got church-livings more than I will say,  
Small livings added to a great revenue,  
Rids poor reports, and common talks away:  
The Chorus of the people that can say,  
The Parson careth not for our soul's health,  
Will hold their tongues at hearing of such wealth.   

Thus full of riches and exceeding power,  
I added living unto living still,  
Scarce came a day, within whose every hour  
There were not yielded offerings of free will,  
To have, or leave, until I had my fill:  
One star is newly added shining fair,  
Unto the back of Cassopeias' chair.   

Between solemnity and lofty state,  
The sequel of my life I will divide,  
Whereby I purchased honour joined with hate,  
And envy still did bear a mighty side,  
Who rises by his wisdom is enui'de:  
Let them envy; but when their lordships fell,  
I must have notice where their Wards must dwell.   

I cared not for the gentry, for I had  
Tithe-gentlemen, young nobles of the land;  
The greatest of the Realm were highly glad,  
When with great charge, and suit under my hand,  
They left the first fruits of their nearest band:  
Fortune is Lady of the nobly borne,  
The learned noble have her gifts in scorn.   

It may be some were glad when I was sent,  
Twice in Embassage to the emperors court;  
And others sad, respecting that I went,  
Furnished so royally with such resort,  
As far exceeds belief of true report:  
Speak they their pleasure, Yet with equal worth,  
And greater good I came, than I went forth.   

Imperious ghost of Charles come sit by mine:  
He cannot come, but lies in Prince's ward,  
And he disdains to sue to Proserpina,  
Dear fellow ghost (but he will not regard,  
Or if he do, from coming is debarred:)  
Truly Imperious, for thy entertain  
To me, and all the followers of my train.   

The town of Bruges, Princes fair resort,  
Flanders rich ornament, noble Peers Exchange,  
The chosen city for the emperors Court,  
About whose streets, my following troops did range,  
Was in her curt●sie so highly strange:  
That nothing there was suffered to be spent,  
Either by me, or any one that went.   

Returning home in far more glorious sort,  
Then Mardocheus to the Median King,  
The sum of my success I did report,  
Pleasing his ears with sound of every thing;  
Eloquence taught my common talk to sing  
Contenting matter, and delighting words,  
No sweeter strains all musics art affords.   

Honour's without employments of estate,  
Are like to sunbeams without heat or light,  
A noble man, and not a magistrate,  
Shines half eclipsed in his clearest bright:  
join heavenly gifts to earthly, light to light;  
Let these great excellencies make a truce,  
Fortune shall need no wheelewrite for her use.   

But from a Monarch of that sovereign power,  
Twice to be sent, so honourably graced,  
To Europa's highest branch and fairest flower,  
In so short season with so happy blast,  
Each doubtful care with wisdom overcast,  
Returning to be more, then going forth,  
Was fatal to the Cardinal of the North.   

Now at such times as Lawyers walk the streets,  
Without long rolls of papers in their hands,  
When friendly neighbour with his neighbour meets,  
Without false challenge to each others lands,  
The counsellor without his client stands:  
When that large Capitol lies void and waste,  
Where Senators and judges late were placed.   

Then in a solemn progress would I ride,  
To see the houses where my livings lay,  
The Image of what was, did not abide,  
Nay scarce the memory remains this day,  
For any stranger that shall pass that way.  
This course in old Records ignorance took,  
Tear the red letters and burn all the book.   

How patiented is Antiquity the while,  
And all the souls that lean on Abraham's breast,  
Those sacred spirits, that with inspired style,  
Wrote truly of the church, and having ceased,  
Their pains on earth, do live in peace and rest?  
" Our parent's age worse than our grandsires be,  
" We worst beget, our children worse than we.   

Then in an humour I accursed strait,  
Those unbaptised sacrilegious hands,  
That only for God's vestry laid their wait,  
Profanely seizing on the church's lands,  
And casting fair for all while none with stands:  
But lest my sorrows openly should break,  
Thus with myself (me thought) I 'gan to speak.   

Ye churches founded by religious Kings,  
Rejoice within your Echo sounding vaults,  
Though envious Time this desolation brings,  
Battering your marble pillars with assaults,  
And even in men there rest no mean defaults:  
Triumph in this, there is a doom for time,  
Revenge for men that by your losses climb.   

And ye (the servants of the living King,)  
Let not your stately palace walls decline,  
No desolation may confusion bring  
To those fair monuments, but let them shine,  
Old famous Hospitality t'enshrine:  
That if she now be there, it may appear,  
If not, the stones may witness she was there.   

That honour which is left, maintain it still,  
That which is past, (due or not due) 'tis gone,  
And be you like yourselves, come what come will,  
Those great procurers of the church's moan,  
Shall one day be accused by every stone  
That now lies mute. Let them advance their style,  
And boast their arms, bear you the cross the while   

If crosses worn for sanctity are despised,  
Because the wearers, lest deserve that crest,  
Why should not crests of valour so be prized  
At equal rate, but they enjoy the best,  
Being of worthy medes far dispossessed;  
A new Clarentieux made for this intent,  
One for desert another for descent?   

What field deserves emblazoned more to be,  
Than which our saviours blood bestained with red?  
What Princes heir inherits like degree  
To God's dear son, whose blessed arms were spread,  
Upon his arms the cross, whereon he bled?  
All they that serve this Prince must wear that crest,  
Like Prince's followers fastened on their breast.   

And happy is that servant, that hath store,  
Of those crosse-badges, and can use them well;  
Invisible effects will more and more,  
Provoke a secret virtue to excel,  
Wrought inwardly, nor suffer there to dwell,  
Vnherauld humorous stamps, that seem to burn,  
When metal wants, make colour serve the turn.   

Shall I discourse? that man that wants a cross,  
Is a plain man untouched, and sure down right,  
Content to suffer his salvations loss,  
When with a shadow he may hide the light,  
And hopes to do it. (O religions night!)  
That hidest from our eyes, what most appears,  
Crossing of Stars, of Planets, and of Spheres.   

Say then there are no Poles; shortness of skill  
Follows that proposit on: if there be,  
Are they not opposite by Gods own will?  
Nay can division make equality,  
Unless the crossing make their even degree?  
He that denies the crossing of each Pole,  
Astronomy condemns him in the whole.   

Then they were worn, when no man durst resist,  
If now they do, the world is wiser grown;  
Mistaking was the cause I was not blessed:  
If Diagrams of Euclid had been known,  
Dioscorides fair twines in gardens sown;  
The Mathematique skill of twining flowers,  
Spheres, Globes, the earth's authority were ours.   

No more of this, lest if I say too much,  
My lines poor writer, bear the greatest blame;  
I may suspect, because the world is such,  
Sometimes injuriously to lay the blame,  
On him that speaketh in another's name:  
Yet I'll declare my glorious state much more,  
To vex them deeper than they grudged before.   

Nor was that star, that joined to the sun,  
Hath been miraculous at noon days view,  
When equal with his fiery course he run,  
Or stood admiring how his greatness grew,  
So wondered at, as when they gave their due  
To presence of my state: If I had light,  
All borrowed was from Henry's princely right.   

How bright was he that could afford such beams,  
And yet himself be glorious above measure?  
How plentiful that had all flowing streams?  
How kingly minded in his endless treasure?  
From him I had my wealth, from me his pleasure:  
Let others joy by other lights appear,  
True Cynthaes' father shineth in my sphere.   

If I bore pillars, 'twas a prophecy,  
The church would want them to support their state,  
In all my life there was a mystery  
Accomplished in my fall, yet shall I rate  
Myself in compass, or appoint a date  
To th'Empyrean highness of my birth,  
Which I first made familiar to this earth?   

Loaden with reverence, proud with mine eye,  
Which nothing but obedience would see,  
Vnheau'nly musical I might not lie,  
Organs were common, consorts were so free,  
That pleasing others, they displeased me:  
Entering into myself, I sung within,  
An higher treble than which they begin.   

How lofty above other wings I flew,  
And yet unmelted by my Phoebus' heat,  
How fair a chariot in my sphere I drew,  
And moving still, enjoyed a perfect seat,  
How royal, how attended, nay how great,  
Not I, but all forget but my descent,  
No epithet fits me but Excellent.   

My study, heaven, my thoughts how to be wise,  
My care to flourish, my desire to gain,  
Glory my end, my comfort still to rise,  
And to enjoy next place to Prince's reign,  
My settled purpose not to fall again:  
My plot was policy, wit my defence,  
Greatness my pride, holiness my pretence.   

In due observance of the Lords behests,  
So far as weak mortality perceived,  
In such behaviour, as behoved best,  
Mortality, unless I were bereaved,  
Or I in it, or it in me deceived:  
I seemed to show, the world so seemed to see,  
For to pretend is now esteemed to be.   

jerusalem, the pride of Palestine,  
Renowned through the world for Zion's height,  
Within whose walls the purest Sun did shine,  
That ever gave heavens evershining light,  
Though far most glorious in all earthly sight,  
Was just my Peer; and once of like renown,  
I for a man, as that was for a town.   

What hath the world to which I may compare,  
That thing which was myself, what I have been?  
Nature herself is grown exceeding bare,  
And Art wants words, and histories fair Queen  
Will not report what mortal eyes have seen:  
Lest Muses, wanting music take their wings,  
As quite amazed, and leave their silver strings.   

Yea they, whose optic skill redoubles light,  
And teaches men how they may see too far,  
That Art which bids Nature's poor eyes good night,  
Gazed upon the shows of painted war,  
Or on an arras-woven blazing star:  
Where Art with Nature curiously did strive,  
In busy works of shadows prospective:   

When as they need no more to calculate,  
Or seek the house of Planets, and of signs,  
They saw the figure of my high estate,  
And knew how every object there inclines,  
Though judging spirits be seldom true divines:  
Within my private house they might espy,  
More of mine honour, then in all the sky.   

Who followed me, but Fortune was at hand,  
To follow him? or, if she went before,  
To usher him? or, if I made him stand,  
To stand with him? or, if I wished him more,  
To beg herself, to amplify his store?  
My birth enjoined, my planets to a date,  
Myself made Fortune to be fortunate.   

Man's eye makes what is seen to seem so fair,  
Man's ear makes what is heard to sound so sweet,  
Man's speech is censured by the breathing air,  
His touch by softness; every sense is meet  
For his own object, but I needs must greet  
Sence-wanting Censurers, that fail in this,  
Not seeing things aright, they heard amiss.   

Why should I satisfy the vulgar sort,  
That beast of many, yet not wisest heads?  
Whom I could wish some honest friend exhort,  
To pick the Daisies in his parish meads:  
For who my praise-excelling Triumph reads,  
Although in glorious places he have been,  
Must yet imagine more than he hath seen.   

For I myself that could conceive as well  
As other judges of mine own estate,  
Stood dumb at mine own height, nay could I tell  
What to think of myself, or how to rate,  
The long appointed providence of Fate?  
For excellency ever bears this mind,  
By no inferior skill to be defined.   

Let Art in general seem to begin,  
To specify, let every perfect sense  
Conceive, and in conceit all greatness win,  
Yet hath my glory cause of best pretence,  
When I am best defined by difference:  
Describe me then, and there described are,  
Might, wisdom, eminence, beyond compare.   

To which my threefold joy, the thrice exceeding  
The grace-vouchsafing presence of my King,  
Added the spirit of more high proceeding,  
Changing my tenor to a sweeter string,  
For Phoebus never better light doth bring,  
Then when he takes from Ioues imperial seat,  
If not his light, yet influence more great.   

For once he masked those his victorious eyes,  
Wherein both majesty and mercy shined,  
Eclipsed (as he thought) but no disguise,  
Nor sight-deluding torchlight so could blind  
My wandering eyes, but ever in my mind,  
Somewhat suggested me, there should be One,  
Deserved more than my place, a royal throne.   

The very place wherein a Prince appears,  
Discerns his presence, makes the chamber blest,  
Like planets are they known within their spheres,  
Or as Halcyon with her turning breast,  
Demonstrates wind from wind, and east from west:  
This is a certain Nature of estate,  
It cannot masked be, nor change his gate.   

And as defaults will more conspicuous be,  
How much th'offender greater is esteemed,  
So virtue in a princely body see,  
Lamp like, and far more excellently deemed;  
That in such unity it seldom seemed;  
In mutual approach of highest bliss,  
Whether more graced each by other is.   

How are they blinded then that dare conspire,  
The least offence against great sovereignty?  
Or with Prometheus touch one spark of fire,  
Kindled within the breast of Majesty?  
How blind that cannot see serenity?  
O let them never more enjoy their sights;  
Prometheus-like, let Vultures gnaw their lights.   

Who stops the triumph of my chariots course?  
Or charms the swiftness of my Fortune's blast?  
Why lies my pride at anchor to discourse?  
And weary Muse, why make you so small haste?  
What are you silent? shall I not be grac'de  
By sea and land, whom sea and land have found,  
With wind by land, with tide at sea renowned?   

Their violence never drove me to the north,  
Whence by the Proverb nothing comes but ill.  
By great Promotion I proceeded forth  
That worthy Pilot, that hath wondrous skill,  
To draw and withdraw, promise and fulfil:  
At my return, to do the proverb due,  
Either I found or made the proverb true.   

Why should I do a silly proverb wrong  
That meant not me, not I, his author knew?  
O had he power to make his proverb strong,  
Or good, or bad; then fortune might renew  
My former favours; be that sentence true.  
This answer is enough for my defence,  
No harm, I came but half the way from thence.   

And coming from a climate moist and cold,  
I feared the south would be too hot for me,  
Especially the court, when uncontrolled,  
Within the honest North I might be free  
From scorching hatred: happy is that see  
Whose Prelate sees no courtiers, none of these  
That come a fleecing in their dioecese.   

Which sanctity nathlesse pretends no harm,  
But zealous hindrance of the church's pride,  
Who lately would impropriate a Farm  
Unto the church? Nay who doth not deride  
The poor fee simple on the church's side?  
And laugh within themselves to see such tricks,  
Babes in their cradles heirs to bishoprics.   

Before I stooped, I hoou'red for my prey,  
And stopped my western Knight, that once stocked me,  
Within the Temple gate I made him stay,  
In tenure of Knights-seruice, where his fee  
Was like his practice, short of his degree:  
And there he decked the tower with great excess,  
Would God men could out-build their wickedness.   

Then should the rich foundation princely laid,  
Of this fair church half expiate my sins,  
Or were as much of my great ransom paid,  
As here is laid of this, but nought he wins,  
That cannot finish that which he begins:  
In some calm rest my troubled soul would bide,  
Might I, but where I built, be iustifi'de.   

My buildings stand without an Echoes sound,  
Yet they are lofty, and the waters nigh:  
What bashful Echo walks the solemn round?  
Or rather what inhabitants? or why?  
Or else how long will they my worth deny?  
If by the water's side my building lie,  
Shall that fair river drown my memory?   

The pedant minister and serving clerk,  
The ten-pound, base, frize-ierking hireling,  
The Farmer's Chaplain with his quarter mark,  
The twenty noble Curate, and the thing,  
Called Elder, all these gallants needs will bring  
All reverend titles into deadly hate,  
Their godly calling, and my high estate.   

It ill befits my triumph to acquaint,  
The show thereof with such a rabblement;  
Or turn my glory to a light complaint,  
But that I would afford each complement,  
As princes do to cause their merriment:  
Diviner fools than these sprung up of late,  
Did never Porter bring within his gate.   

'tis superstition to erect high towers,  
But great religion to enjoy their height,  
Folly to spend the utmost of our powers,  
To kindle sacred learning's joyful light,  
And save the Muses from eternal night:  
But had none founded Colleges and Schools,  
Whence had they wisdom to account us fools?   

Alureds' own wings, and Bayliols' own zeal,  
(Both King's renowned for their gracious deed;  
The three religious winchester's did seal  
Their praises, and their statutes with like speed,  
Nor do the Lincoln's want deserved meed:  
Why should not I of York by right expect,  
Equal remembrance for my greater act?    

Wolseius moriens.  

VIth honourable burdens I have tired  
My Fortune's wheel that it can turn no more,  
The leases of my lordships are expired,  
My lamp burned out, poor Metaphors great store  
To trope my miseries my heart grows sore:  
Help me, for I have surfeited of late,  
Some Paracelsian of a sublimate.   

Sublimed indeed, but all the purest gone,  
The treasure is in others coffers laid,  
Now writ Melpomene my tragic moan,  
Call Nero's learned master, he will aid,  
Thy failing quill with what himself once said:  
Never did Fortune greater instance give,  
In what frail state proud Magistrates do live.   

Behold my grave, where scarce lies any stone  
To cover me, nor roof to cover it,  
And when thou seest our ruins both in one,  
One Epitaph will equally befit  
The church and me, let never man of wit  
Be used therein; paint on the church's wall,  
Here lies an Abbey, there a Cardinal.   

The North was never warm since I came thence,  
Leicester was never rich since I lay there,  
O blasting spirit of me, dead influence,  
In countries, whose poor wasted Hemisphere  
Did ever since a greater burden bear:  
Tears that should fall from eyes of each degree,  
Are Icicles, and will not melt for me.   

The people's hearts of late are strung so hard,  
That they will break before one note shall sound,  
Or so untunable, that still they iar'de;  
Their brains so like the Moon, whose coat they found,  
That tears for toys, and not true cause abound:  
Call up my spirits themselves, all are asleep,  
Distill my ashes, yet they cannot weep:   

All as my Chrysom, so my winding sheet,  
None ioy'de my birth, none mourned my death to see,  
The short Parenthesis of life was sweet,  
But short▪ what was before, unknown to me,  
And what must follow, is the Lords decree:  
The period of my glory is expressed,  
Now of my death, and then my Muse take rest.   

Not such as I took, when they from me hent  
The Seal of England, by great Henry's will,  
Wherein his picture with his favour went,  
A double loss: They that have Courtiers skill,  
They that have favour, let them sign their bill  
While wax is warm, and Fortune seems to bless,  
And Prince's seal is ready to impress.   

For I unsealed was open to the view  
Of all that read my fortune: some would say,  
They thought as much before, but that's untrue,  
Because they saw no likelihood of decay,  
No bird that strived, nor beast that lost his way:  
But men interpreted and made a gloss,  
Imagining them Prophets of my loss.   

My Crosses fall, and Chaplains broken head,  
Were Oracles in silence, cause of fear,  
Emblems of trouble, imprese of dread,  
Doubt and suspicion in my mind did rear  
Heavy conceits, when nothing did appear:  
Such are the desperate troubles of our soul,  
Where greater things the better things control.   

The day was now approaching nigh at hand,  
Of my instalment in York's gracious See,  
Th'aeternal Providence did then withstand,  
M'intented enterprise; but things must be,  
As heavens foreseeing wisdom shall decree:  
The mace of Honour, borne like virtues crest,  
Was now laid on my shoulder for arrest.   

I did not mean with Predecessors pride  
To walk on cloth as custom did require,  
More fit that cloth were hung on either side  
In mourning wise, or make the poor attire,  
More fit the dirige of a mournful choir:  
In dull sad notes all sorrows to exceed  
For him, in whom the Prince's love is dead.   

I am the tomb where that affection lies,  
That was the closet where it living kept:  
Yet wisemen say affection never dies;  
No but it turns, and when it long hath slept,  
Looks heavy like the eye that long hath wept:  
O could it die, that were a restful state;  
But living, it converts to deadly hate.   

My servants shall like bondmen serve the time,  
My guard attend, without or welt or guard,  
We now are subject to another clime,  
Vain pride, and sumptuous pomp we must discared,  
For from my loss they have their just reward:  
Now is captivity the first degree  
Of downfall by commission fallen on me.   

But why do I here cease at my arrest,  
By which I am provoked to proceed?  
O Liberty how much is that man blest,  
Whose happy fortune do his fate's aread,  
That for Deserts rejoices to be freed?  
Much more may others grieve, and much more I,  
That for Desert have lost our Liberty.   

By short and heavy journeys I was brought  
To Sheffield park, there taking sweeterepose,  
Where true Nobility entirely sought  
T'ennoble grief, and entertain my woes:  
O how doth heaven the course of cares dispose,  
By interchange of honour and of pleasure,  
To augment our miseries exceeding measure?   

His trains attendance show'd my glories past,  
(Bitter remembrance) and my present shame,  
(Unhappy presence) and the times of waste,  
Accusing all when I deserved the blame,  
Accursing Change that keeps me not the same:  
Let him that sees his private misery,  
Avoid the prospect of prosperity.   

It breeds pale Envy, and sad Discontent,  
Procures offence before a proffered wrong,  
Torments itself, till all conceits are spent,  
And thoughts delivered by malicious tongue;  
Then rapt with violent fury, grows so strong,  
That it enuenomes all our human parts,  
Blind-iudging eyes, and sense-confounding hearts.   

far better had I met upon the way,  
Legions of Lazars, ghosts of men unjust,  
Afflicted spirits tormented night and day,  
With Pride's remembrance, and incestuous lust,  
Appearing in their ornaments of dust:  
Such passengers might well have met with me  
Of like profession, and of like degree.   

Ages to come will thankfully admire,  
That prince's worth which pitied prelate's want,  
Those benefits are noble and entire,  
But in few grounds increaseth such a plant,  
Since their old virtuous roots are grown so scant.  
Professions doubt breeds good housekeepers care,  
That though they would, yet few there are that dare.   

Sickness the Herald of arms, hearts, and all,  
Frustrating all arrests, arrests my health,  
Stopping my vital powers, and did fall  
So violent, and with so sudden stealth,  
As that it ceased on all my spirits wealth:  
Some thought it was a wind, and sooth they say,  
It blew my breath, my life, and all away.   

By this time, and 'twas more than high time now,  
Another Knight was sent me from the King,  
To whom (saluting me) I 'gan a vow,  
My innocency, till his words did ring  
A peal of joys, never did Siren sing,  
Nor Sailor hear such music on the seas,  
Sweetly to sound, and ravishingly please.   

The King said he, (thereat I lowly bend)  
Commends him (than I reared my heart again)  
Commands me, (how I mused at his intent)  
Assure you that his Grace doth still remain,  
His royal self your loving sovereign:  
And wills you by his beams your thoughts to clear,  
Shrouded so long in clouds of heavy cheer.   

Where blind reports have buzzed in his ears,  
Some heinous crimes wherein you should offend,  
Since no sound proof, no certainty appears,  
He recks them of no truth, nor to no end,  
Which made him in his princely judgement send  
To hear your trial, and not judge before,  
He could command no less, you crave no more.   

I thanked him for his kindness, and replied,  
Did now the livehood of my youth remain,  
Had not my strength late with my honour died,  
No opposite occasion could restrain  
My journey post, but yet ere Phoebus' wain  
Have drawn him twice unto his western rest,  
I hope to be in better health addressed.   

Two Agonies at once, each in his kind,  
Unite themselves, and so divided me,  
The body's grief, and passions of the mind,  
Agreeing in strength, and striving in degree,  
Work on their subject, leaving one to be  
Patient of sickness, suppliant of moan,  
And I, poor I, must be that odious one.   

My Mitre with two tops deceived my head,  
Within one top of antichrist's own crown,  
In this I blessed am, in being dead  
Before I wore that weight that casts men down,  
The souls and bodies both be overthrown:  
And were my Rotchet true religions stain,  
Repenting tears now wash it white again.   

Coming to Leicester, hard at their gate,  
The Abbot with his Covent and their lights  
Met me, (O then again I saw the state,  
Not mine, but theirs, not theirs, but churches rights)  
This was the last of all the holy nights:  
When no pure Planet would this sadness see,  
The very toarches dropped black tears for me.   

The Abbot meeting me stood half amazed,  
Doubting what title should befit me best:  
Seeing him silent, when I had embraced,  
Thus opened I the closure of my breast;  
Father I come to take my latest rest:  
Vouchsafe for this vile flesh some holy shrine,  
Provide a place to lay these bones of mine.   

Would God (said he) would God this body were  
Thy spirits worthy keeper and so strong  
As they are high, then might you overbear  
The strange attempts of such as have too long  
Offered your Lordship, as you think, some wrong:  
But noble Cardinal, what shall we do?  
Sickness is grown a Politician too.   

Indeed perchance (I said) it may prevent  
Such courses as my calling ill befits,  
I rather choose that death should make extent,  
Then I consume my fi●ry spirit of wits,  
For he that stands may fall, and he that sits  
May feel unsettled ease, then let me die,  
So in my grave securely shall I lie.   

Thus in I went into their holy Cell,  
Where new objections wandered in my mind,  
Why could I not be once content to dwell,  
In like mean sort, and to like orders bind  
My life? why was I not so well inclined?  
A quiet roof seemed then too mean for me,  
I sold myself to purchase high degree.   

Monks, let your charitable tapers burn,  
That I may see myself with outward light;  
Fie, outward lamps will never serve my turn,  
And of myself within I have no sight,  
When it is day abroad, in me 'tis night:  
Black smoke arises from my very name,  
I want the oil that should maintain the flame.   

Then gentle Kingston thinking to appease  
And mitigate the troubles of my mind,  
Mistook the nature of my great disease;  
Doubt not, said he, the Prince is well inclined,  
And his good will your Lordship soon shall find:  
He wishes your long life; Ah but said I,  
The Prince of heaven determines I shall die.   

And had the duty to my God been such,  
As it was faithful serving to the King,  
Then had my conscience free from fear or touch,  
Mounted aloft on Cherubins swift wing,  
In holy consort borne a Part to sing:  
That now with heavy weight is overspread,  
And with my body wishes to be dead.   

But now my Soul, how wanderest thou abroad  
Through Labyrinths inextricable ways?  
Oh find some ready passage to thy God  
And age, forget the course of younger days,  
Forget the pomp and people's flattering praise:  
And Death (if thou regard a man's request)  
Set free my spirit that feign would be at rest.   

Why some are gone already, look about,  
Did no man meet part of my soul before?  
I had but three, one and an half are out;  
Nay had I more than one? I had no more,  
God save the substance of that little store:  
I hope one goes to heaven, why then 'tis well,  
Philosophy, and both the rest to hell.   

I'll vegetate no longer, perish Sense,  
Aspire sweet Reason, and by faith, ascend,  
Fly to the perfect pure Intelligence,  
Humble Repentance, teach me how to bend  
My careful passage to that joyful end:  
What is't a clock? as soon as eight hath struck,  
My soul this earthly body hath forsook.   

My Lord, (said one) the clock shall never strike,  
No but the hour will come, and that's all one;  
But Sir, these prophecies prove seldom like:  
Yes at the hour of death, else few or none,  
Where earthly clouds are half removed and gone,  
The soul at separation mends her view,  
With purer insight she discerns what's true.   

Is not that Wainflet that is come for me,  
Great Founder of the sinful woman's towers,  
With Wickams' ghost, fathers of like degree?  
Come they of late from God's celestial bowers?  
I'll go with them, O if the precious showers  
Of that unspotted Lamb with drops of blood,  
Have washed you clean, let me enjoy like good.   

When shall my tomb at Windsor be prepared,  
That wants a tenant now expecting me?  
It is a monument of good regard,  
Befitting well a man of best degree,  
O that I now lay buried under thee;  
And by my side closed up in dusty vales,  
All voices, Echoes, talks, reports, and tales.   

I want my Balm to be perfumed withal,  
My coffin is too close a lodge for me,  
Fie, fie, address me to my funeral,  
My mother Earth mine only wife shall be,  
And yet no incest, sithence only she  
Bears all her sons and daughters in one womb,  
She Europe's, Amerikes, Africa's, Asia's tomb.   

Those worldlings that wont Nature to accuse,  
For giving Ravens longer lives than men,  
Let them the joy of their opinion use,  
And raving live content in earthly den,  
Let age lend them the spectacles to ken:  
This body is a jail, our soul enlarged,  
And when we die, our debts are all discharged.   

So if I rest indebted to my Lord,  
Then let him take my body, soul, and all,  
Feign would I see him of mine own accord,  
Or hear that warrant that should quickly call  
Me to appear at sizes general:  
Mean while within this Porter's lodge to stay,  
But till I shall desire to break away.   

Twixt this and then I will devise a word,  
That ten times ten sound worse than Guilty may;  
My Conscience shall witnesses afford,  
As many as are minutes in a day,  
I charge it not dissemble any way.  
If for my trail they demand my will,  
My Country hath and doth condemn me still.   

Whither? to Lion's den? Daniel came thence;  
I am not worthy to succeed his place:  
O'er to the Wolves? there lies my best defence,  
For I was ravenous in the time of Grace,  
To spoil the forest, and the plants deface:  
The chosen sheep will to the Shepherd say,  
I was the sheep that ever went astray.   

Yet I that durst offend, dare hope for grace  
Beyond all reason, contrary to sense,  
Salvation heavy sinners may embrace,  
If God remit the guilt of deep offence;  
Let all the world hang in their own suspense,  
The world is but a point, whereon men dwell,  
And I am at a point what they can tell.   

If any bills of new indictment come,  
At the King's bench in heaven I must appear,  
Long since arrested, now expect my doom;  
Sue where you list, but I must answer there,  
Die and accuse me in that hemisphere;  
No'r flesh, nor blood my Declaration tells,  
Mine own accuser in my bosom dwells.   

In whose great Temple richly beautified,  
Paved all with Stars dispersed on Sapphire flower,  
The Clerk is a pure Angel sanctified,  
The judge our true Messiah full of power,  
Th' Apostles his Assistants every hour,  
The jury Saints, the Uerdict Innocent,  
The sentence, Come ye blessed to my tent.   

The spear that pierced his side, the writing Pen,  
Christ's blood the Ink, red ink for prince's name,  
The veils great breach, the miracle for men,  
The sight is show of them that long dead came  
From their old graves, restored to living frame,  
And that last signet passing all the rest,  
Our souls discharged by Consummatum est.   

Here endless joy is their perpetual cheer,  
Their exercise sweet songs of many parts,  
Angels the choir, whose Symphony to hear,  
Is able to provoke conceiving hearts,  
To misconceive of all enticing Arts:  
The Ditty praise, the subject is the Lord,  
That tunes their gladsome spirit to this accord.   

Stay then till some good Meteor appear,  
Or let the Sun exhale me vapor-wise,  
Stir Charles-wayne, and see the coast be clear,  
Let no congealed clouds or mists arise  
Along the moving circle of the skies;  
Or rather shut up all in darksome night,  
That none may see my silent secret flight.    
FINIS.   

REader: the Decôrum is kept even in these Errata: there is no reason that a Book should be without faults, when the person of whom the book entreateth had so many in his life. But the Author could have wished, that Wolsey had corrected his errors while he lived, on that condition, that himself had committed none in the description of his life. If the reader find any more than are here set down, let him remember that it is a matter inevitable, unless Nature had either placed our eyes behind us, or the wallet of faults before us.  
A 4 side 2 line 14 deal now. C 2 line 6 for When read Where. Ibid, line 7 for Where read Nor. E 3 side 1 line 6 The man that. Ibid. line 9 for rupulse read repulse. F the last page line 21 read immortal days. K 2 side 2 line 6 trial.  
I. S.