A REMEMBRANCE, OF THE worthy and well employed life, of the right honourable Sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, Lord keeper of the great Seal of England, and one of the Queen's Majesties most honourable Privy Counsel, who deceased, the 20 day of February 1578. With an exhortation necessary for every estate. The work of George Whetstone's Gentleman. Formae Nulla fides. ¶ Imprinted at London for Miles jennings, dwelling at the sign of the Bible in Paul's Churchyard. TO THE RIGHT Worshipful Master Gilbert Gerrard, the Queen's majesties Attorney general, George Whetston's gent. wisheth concontinuaunce of health with increase of happiness. SIr the renown, of the right honourable, the late Lord keepers virtues, and the regard of my unableness to report them, stayed my endeavour (for a time) to work a remembrance of his worthy and well employed life, and hindered my desire, to commit my notes to your learned censure. But weighing that wise men win morality out of trifles, as Bees drain honey forth of weeds: and worthy minds allow of every man's good will, as the chiefest garland of courtesy. I have performed my attempt, and adventured on your acceptance, beseeching your worship, in judgement to imprint, what I have left of his virtues unreported, and to pardon my own invention, not worthy your view, for sure I am to fail in the one, whether I exceed or not, in the other. Appelles' easily and lively counterfeited Alexander, but learned Plutarch, hardly discovereth his conditions. Heracleotes perfectly painted Helen, but Ovid erred in penning her wantonness. So difficult a work it is to discourse, the lives both of the good and bad, as (according to senica's opinion) it is ncessarie that the virtuous report the one, and the vicious publish the other. For that in these causes, it is more needful, to have experience to judge, than wit to devise. Phormio learnedly deuinyng of war, of Hannibal was deamed unwise, for that being a Philosopher, he undertook the charge of a soldier. The like may be my check, that presume to pen the life of a grave Counsellor, that of years am green, & of judgement incertain: nevertheless I am the rather to be pardoned, for that greater clerks have in this pointerred. (besides my good will) the work instructes, and no way hurts, which if it pass with your favour, I hold myself fully satisfied, and my pains well immployed the 4. day of March. Your worships to command, George Whetstons. A REMEMBRANCE of the worthy and well employed life, of the right honourable, sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, Lord keeper of the great Seal of England, and of the Queen's Majesties most honourable privy Counsel. SOlon the sage, enacted this decree, That only men, that lived and died well, In written books, registered should be. His reason was, the lewd, which lived in hell. Aught not in fame, among the good to devil. Yet lest their lives, might so unblamed pass, In public view, he wrote their faults, in brass. And truth to say, good deeds, and bad breed fame, If once in books, about the world they pack: And wicked men, to get themselves a name, But little way, to work their country's wrack, As he that did Diana's Temple sack. Therefore that such may loose their after hope, Baffoule their names, and bane them with a rope. Yet lest my words, be construed from the sense, Of wicked men, the ruin and the fall, Briefly to writ, I hold for no offence. But rather fit, the climbing head to call, From such attempts, as after may him gall, But to the crime a colour for to use, another time, is cause of like abuse. Of like abuse: may worse, if worse may be, The naughty man, would little reek of law, If he a cloak, could for his lewdness see, Thus what was meant to keep ill men in awe. In wrongs gives them, a light they never saw, And therefore good, this mischief to forelet, That naughty deeds, stark naked should be set. Rain often doth good, yet through a hurtful cause, The Sun by kind, doth nourish with delight, Even so to show, their scourge that breaketh laws, Doth well, but how? the free from bands to fright. When their sweet lives, at large for to recight, Which lived, beloved, and blameless scapeth deed Makes men do well, on zeal & not through dread. But some will say, that carp beyond their wit, The Son sometimes a hurtful heat doth send, And nemo, sine crimine vivit. I grant few live, but may some faults amend, The fairest Rose, hath prickels to offend. The fruitful Bee, that doth sweet honey bring, The housewives hand, sometimes doth sharply sting But what of this? the gain exceeds the grief, Besides the use, makes all things ill, or good, Some men favour, where flattery lacks relief, Some do revenge, and never sheades their blood, & some use both, as though their wits were wood, But follow those, though sometimes they do sin, Whose upright lives, both love and favour win. Even one of those, sir Nicholas Bacon was, Lord keeper late, key of the common weal, Whose death his joy, makes many scythe alas, Her Majesty, who knew his faithful zeal, Her Counsel, when, in great affairs they deal. His friends of course, their plaints with tears do plant But wronged men, may most be wail his want His breatheles corpse (but not begorde with blood, Nor headless, as a Traitor) I present, But numbering him, among the perfect good, I bring him forth, to pay the earth his rent, Who there engraved, to draw men from lament, His virtuous deeds, which live in spite of death, My willing muse, shall always keep in breath. To blaze his birth, botelesse, or needless were, Maioribus virtute prelux●i Abideth touch, with honour every where, Whose nature, is, in act, not name to glory, And yet this right, none can his house deny, But by decent, a gentleman he was, And by desert, to honour he did pass. First Cambridge did, with learning store head, At Gray'S Inn, than the Law he did apply, And as Sea men, with joy and comfort fed, If in the Sun, no watery sign they spy, A boun courage, my mates, fair weather cry, So they in youth, that did his sirmenesse see, Devinde in years, great would his fortune be. His wit was quick, yet raised with self conceight, By rashness he, to rise did not assay, Fish soon are caught, that bite at every bait, Like luck have they, that clime without a stay, Which made him wright, His Pocey. Mediocria firma, The Snail is slow, yet safely scales the Tower, When flying birds, are scared every hour. He took his course, in wisdom like the Snail, He sought no means, but merit to aspire, Who slowly creeps, but yet doth never quail, And even as heat, be wraieth hidden fire, So virtue gives, in fine the good their hire, Though Envy seeks, their benefit to thwart, Or they themselves, imprison their desert. Sufficient prose, He was Solicitor of the augmentation corte. this good Lord keeper shows, Whose wisdom him, with such a credit clad, As every day, in great account he grows, Who long a go, a worthy office had. His counsel grave, did every creature glad, He Speaker was, He was speaker of the parliament. long of the Parliament, And as he said the matter always went. Signs of a worthy Magistrate. And good cause why, he was, in speech repos'de He still; devised, before he did derecte, He never with, his Prince, nor Country glos'de, But ever did, the common weal respect, He blamed faults, but sild the faulty checte, He bridled wrath, and favour bleared him not, Which rare good gifts, a matcheles fame him got. He was in Religion a good protestant. But which belongs, most to a Magistrate, A Protestant, he was in zeal, as show, Which heavenly grace, grafted on his special gifts, Within his mind, made, worthy thoughts to grow And in the dark, as men a Diamond know, So by his deeds, the Queen foreknew him just, And in her realm, placed him, in chiefest trust. The Queen's Magisty made him Lord keeper and of her honourable privy Counsel. Her Counselor, and keeper of the Seal, She made him both, of honour either charge, Yea pillars of our happy Common weal, And as through trust, she trusted him at large, So he with truth, his duty did discharge, His counsel was, both sound and quick, in need, Yea all chanced well, that his devise decreed. Besides his faith, which most delights his soul, Which holds his fame, until the world doth end, To foster wrong, he took no privy toll, Neither letters, lord, nor all that help could lend, Against the truth, should make, his conscience bend, The wronged man, how poor so were his plight, Against the rich, he would restore to right. His head was stayed, A necessary judge, in causes of contience before his tongue did walk, His eyes did search, the simple suitors heart: He trusted tears, far, more than filled talk, For well he witted, they flow'de from poor men's smart, And truth needs not, the aid of Retoricks art, To hear complaints, one ear was still awake, The other slept, till the defendant spoke. He washed his hands, from doing any wrong, He cloyed his heart, with care, for others ease, He spoiled his legs, in sitting over long, Between parties, foul discords to appease, For others help, he did his health disease, Not much unlike, Lycurgus king of the Lacedæmonians. to good Lycurgus course, Who lived exiled, to keep his laws in force. One special Grace, he used with graceless men, With bitter taunts, their hearts he hardened not, But did his threats, with sweet entreaty blen, Plato's opinion of an angry judge. By which fair means, to mend, he many got, Where (Plato saith) the judge, whose words are hot From all men doth, regard of duty draw, And duty gone, fear keepeth few in awe. To cheerish law, which made him first to rise, In Gray's Inn, he, did build a Library, Fron filchers hands, where law books chained lies, The Law itself, is free for every eye, One office eke, he made for the Chancery, With other good deeds, learning to advance. The which beside, my wortheles verse do glance. And yet my words, which of his worth come short Would ground wise clerks, into works to translate, When he himself (as witnesseth report) In daily acts, a far more credit gate What would you more, he left but few his mate, Worthy therefore, of Abraham his bliss: Which sweetly feel, both of himself, and his. He lived long, A sweet blessing. and lack did never taste, His toil in youth, brought honour to his age, His wealth increased, how so his health did waste, Yet sickness failed, his judgement to assuage. The Proverb goeth, once old, again a page, But till he died, his grave advise did deal, In works of worth, unto the common weal. In wedlock bound, most virtuous was his wife A blessing great, which many great men miss, By whom, he had (to joy his aged life,) Of children store, whom Grace so well did bliss, As men deuin'de, his gifts did grow in his. This hap, he had, this honour he obtained, And this good life, his honest merit gained. But misling drops, in time doth marble pierce Fowl Canker rust, in time doth Iron fret: Time brings in time, proud princes to their hearse Time, youth, strength, pride, & glorious pomp doth eat Time striketh down, even with the low the great, This time, that once gave him, what he could crave, In fine devised, to bring him to his grave. But wisdom, which triumpheth over time, Foretold him oft, how brittle was his state, How man on earth, was nought but dirt and slime How like a thief, Death creeps within the gate. To stay whose stroke, how prayers come to late, And therefore good (this tyrant to defy,) He daily lived, as he would hourly die. A necessary note for old men. The huge great Oak, breaks with a little blast, If that through age, the root be worn away, The gross man so, a qualm doth overcast, If years or grief, in Nature work decay. Summons used for sickness. Which peril he, did in himself forewaie, Ear summons came, who did his conscience strait, And for his Quietus est, on Death did weight. Long before he died he caused his tomb to be made. He built a house, to lodge his breathless corpse, And gazed thereon, which flesh doth quake to hear Which proves his mind, did bear a Phoenix force To burn herself, who makes herself the fire. Yet as her dust, a Phoenix new doth rear, So (well he witted) which joy doth worldlings grieve, By Death, his soul, and body both should live. O happy man, whom honours, could not blind, Nor wealth hold back, from willyngnes to die, His conscience clear, doth prove his quiet mind, That never shrunk, when Death was in his eye. Nay when he one his flesh, his force did try, For when that Death, by sickness pierced his heart, He seamde as fresh, as if he felt no smart. Of all my care, see here an end quoth he, I count it care, which others comfort hold, Both health, and wealth, from care are seldom free (The chiefest joys, that in the world are sold) Sweet is the name, but sour the use of gold, From office and, from honours troubles come, Nemo beatus, ante obitum. O would that man, would way his wretched state So long as he lives, in this sinful maze, A very maze, this wicked world I rate, Which doth beguile, with many a wanton gaze. Whose firmest joy, is like a faggots blaze. Yet for this joy, which fadeth as a flower, The Devil by Death, doth many a Soul devour. O foolish man, thy worldly haunts forget, Whose beaten trakes, to hell the high ways are, The fairest glode, brings woodcocks to the net, The muse betrays, the Conie to the snare, Even so the world, with pleasures every where, Trains on the flesh, to satisfy his thought, Till soul and all, in Satan's gins be caught. The Soul and flesh, impunges the other still, The flesh desires, what, Death & chance doth waste The Soul covets what, none of these can kill, Who (foiling flesh) in Paradise is placed, Whose certain joy, is never sour in taste. What worse match, can any man than make, Then incerta, for certis thus to take. These godly words, in greatest griefs he used Which daily he, in virtuous works did prove And in this mind (whose might, but few abused) With every man, in charity and love, Whom deadly pangs, to passions could not move. Senecas opinion of a good man's end. Even in the place, where long he lived in peace, By Nature's course, he (happy) did decease. His blessed Soul, his breathless corpse thus left, His counterfeit, the view deserveth yet, But his good deeds (by Death which are not refte) In judges heartens, are worthy to be writ, A house for them (as gold for Diamonds) fit, And on his tomb, for every eye to see, his fame to show, this sweet record would be. An Epitaphe answerable his honourable virtues. HEre under lies, sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, Lord keeper late, but not of justice spare, Whose office was, to give wronged men their right, A right to use, which charge, was all his care, Bribes coined no grace, whereas the cause was bore, He lived beloved, and is lamented dead, In men's good will, his gifts, this liking bread. Exhortatio. Unto the world (where he was well beloved) I send this work, not philed like his fame, Which with the test of true report approved, I wish the best, but lived by the same, But soft, fair words, for fear I purchase blame, Ne ultra crepidam suitor, be wise, Most men, praise or blame, but few can advise. The Proverb goes, he hath a Crow to pull, Which takes a task, the learned rules to show, Neither his wit, nor judgement must be dull, Lest that the lewd, his lessons overthrow, But what of this; the wise that science know, (Even as the Bee, wins Honey from a weed) In worthless books, morality will read: Philip king of macedon. The wise and mighty King, of Macedon, Gave charge a child, should wake him with his cry, Philip, Philip, thy mortal state think on, A moral note, for such as look so high, As if foresight, were alway in their eye, Sallomon. When on man's wit (save one) hath yet been such, But small advise, might sometime aid him much, King Ptolomi, the great Astronomer, took great delight, with Shepherds often to sit, Whose notes he liked, of fowl and fair weather, Rude milo, taught, the Roman Senate wit, That clemency, for conquered men was fit, Even so my muse (perchance) may hit the mark, That will content, or teach the learned clerk. first since my pen, in hand, did take a taste, To show his praise, that lived and died well, The which performed (not as his worth doth ask) But even as far, as my good will, could tell, Where self conceight, sends many unto hell, I wish all men, by his example learn, To use the world, as they may heaven yearn. To trust the world, is to deceive our Soul, To love his lust, works loss unto our health, His youthful joys, jades crooked age with dole, To take his prais, is to good fame a stealth, To sooth his Pride, consumeth all our wealth. His quaffing cups, of vain delight to taste. Upon the mind, doth strait a Dropsy caste. But if that man, did never taste his sour, A slender time, his sweet, endures God wot, The fairest Rose, seems fresh not half an hour, The life of man, is lickned to which lot, When Death doth come, all pleasures go to pot And then the lewd, to think upon their sin, (That never ends) do feel their pains begin. Stout sampson's strength, king Alexander's might, Salomons wit, Azaels running swift. Rich Croesus' wealth, bold Hector's force in fight, Haniballes wiles, Ackilles subtle drift. Prothew, that could, his shape at pleasure shifted, Homer's sweet tongue, nor Tully's learned art. Can ward, the dent, of Atropos his dart. The brightest son, with beat a substance makes, That dims his light, and clads with clouds the air ●ryde. So pride a corpse, much like the son that takes, Works of himself, what doth his state impair, Proud Absalon, was strangled in his hear, But whether course, or kind doth stop his breath, At first or last, the proudest veil to death. covetousness. Let Midas moan, to misers be a leech, To gaze on gold, who star●'d for lack of meat, But what need I, them by examples teach, Their care to get, their care to keep more great, With hellish griefs, doth make the greedy sweat, And all his care, tends to no other end. But goods to save, for other men to spend. Let Caesar's fall (that laid the world a long) Enuy. Before warn high minds how they with Envy swell, worms proffer force, against unkindly wrong, Then man, that bears, of creatures all the bell. Disdains, to be, disdained in doing well, And he whose praise, by envy is forestoode, Will seek revenge, upon his enemies blood. The wrathful man, Wrath. is seldom free from woe, A proverb old, but daily proved true, The eager Cock, this fury right doth show, The which till death, doth still his fight pursue. Like fortune wrath, for angry men doth brew, And yet revenge, a passion is so sweet, As wit must stay, or will his foe will meet. Of Sodom, Whoredom and Gommorha, the ruin warns, All sorts of men, from wantonness to fly, Poor Troy still, for Paris whoredom yernes, Strong poisons close in golden cups do lie, crocodiles tears, intrappeth passers buy. The like of lust, with love it lulls the flesh, Till from the bones, it doth the marrow threashe. Gluttony, & drunkenness. The headless corpse, of Hollofernes wills, Drunkenness and Gluttony to forbore, The belching beast, that nought but belly fills, Of honest men, is balked every where, And of excess, thus Plato doth declare, In peace more men, by surfeit catch their bane, Then in the wars, by sword and shot are slain. Desperation. The last but not, of worldly evils the lest, When we have fed of vain delights our fill, Death comes in fine, and doth dissolve the feast, The sight of sin, than many a soul doth kill, Caule judas forth, and thousands if you will, And will them warn, us wretches by their fall, That worldly joys, at death do turn to gall. Epilogus. see hear the joys, that worldings so desire, See how they hast, the death we feign would shun, See here sans Grace, faggots for Satan's fire, See here with all, the race this Lord did run, See what a mean, from these extremes he won, See, se, at death, his conscience well prepared, And see the rest, through sin with sickness scared. FINIS.