SIR philip Sidney, his honourable life, his valiant death, and true virtues.  
A perfect Mirror for the followers both of Mars and Mercury▪ Who (in the right hardy breaking upon the Enemy, by a few of the English, being for the most part Gentlemen of honour and name) received his deaths wound, near unto Sutphen the 22. of September last passed, died at Arnam the 16. of October following: and with much honour and all possible moan, was solemnly buried in Paul's the 16. of February 1586. By G. W. gent.  
Whereunto is adjoined, one other brief Commemoration of the universal lamentation, the never dying praise, and most solemn funeral of the said right hardy and noble Knight. By. B. W. Esquire.  
Dedicated, to the right Honourable the Earl of Warwick, by his Lordship's faithful Servant George Whetstone's.  Mors honesta, vita ignominiosa preferenda. 
Imprinted at London for Thomas Cadman.  
FUIMUS  
The Right Honble. Charles Viscount Bruce of Ampthill (Son and Heir Apparent of Thomas Earl of Ailesbury) and Baron Bruce of Whorleton 1712   

¶ To the Right Honourable my especial good Lord and Master, Ambrose Earl of Warwick, Baron Lisle, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, General of all the Queen's majesties Ordinance, through her highness Dominions, and of her sacred excellencies most honourable and prudent privy Counsel, be heaped the true rewards, of his godly and honourable virtues.  
RIght Honourable, albeit that sundry of the (Manifold) lovers, of your most worthy Nephew, of dear memory, Sir Philip Sidney Knight, have already witnessed, their true affections, in publishing of passionate Poems, Epitaphs, and Commemorations of his neverdying virtues: yet I hope, my later writing shall find entertainment of your Lordship, & favour amongst those, that truly loved him. Considering that my slackness to the world, proceeded from a diligent search, to set down his divine and heroical gifts, according to truth: though unpossible to give them the life & grace, which shined in his actions. The learned Lypsius was not deceived, when in beholding of this noble Gentleman, he advisedly said.   

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY, Anglia est flos regionum, & tu flos Anglia, England is the flower of Kingdoms: And thou the flower of England.  
Envy his only enemy, will not deny, but that the comfort of his wisdom, (combined with all moral virtues) was the rising son of England, and that his mortal abilities, were generally admired, and especially feared where the English are not beloved: your Lordship needeth not this information, to know his inestimable value, when he was like to possess your temporal honours after death, and was sure of your virtues in his life.  
His loss will make his goodness best known, and soon missed in England, notwithstanding the records of his life, are profitable for our posterity, and holy works, that revive him after death. My remembrances of this worthy Knight, now with God, I humbly present, under your honours patronage, to whom he was most dear, and near, that your Lordship allowing of my god intent, I may deceive the envious findefault, of his Idle censure.  
The Lord be with your Lordship in all your affairs, for whose health, and honourable prosperity, I do daily pray, and to the end will constantly remain.  
Your Lordship's faithful Servant George Whetstone's.   

To the right Honourable my especial good Lord, Ambrose Earl of Warwick, Baron Lisle, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, General of all the Queen's Majesties ordnance, through her highness dominions, and one of her majesties most honourable privy Counsel. T. C. wisheth increase of all Honour and Virtue.  
ALthough (right Honourable) to bring fire to the Altars when the Sacrifice is ended; or Epitaphs for the dead when their funerals are half forgotten, is to wish for rain when the harvest is past: yet considering with myself the never dying virtues of the worthy once hopeful Gentleman of England Sir Philip Sidney Knight, a man so beloved of all, as oblivion feareth to persuade time any ways to impair his immortal fame: & seeing that all in heart & divers in their labours did bewail his loss, painting out in Poems & Epitaphs his virtues & their own sorrows: amongst whom a gentleman and servant of your Honours George Whetstone's, had before his going into the Low Countries written learnedly an Epitaph of his life and death: although destiny and fate hath too untimely ended his days: yet sith his works before his departure were dommitted to my hands, I, thought it my duty and held it as a religion, first not to deprive the gentleman of that due which his willingness and labours did worthily deserve: secondly for that his works bewrayed the virtues of such a Paragon of our time: and lastly & not the least cause, for that your honours servant had dedicated his Poems to your Lordship; whose Epistle as he wrote it to your honour I have prefixed. These considerations (right Honourable) moved me to attempt the impression of this Epitaph, which I humbly present unto your Lordship: desiring your Honour to vouchsafe of my good meaning, and not to misconstrue of my boldness. In which hope testing, I commit you to the Almighty.  
Your Lordships in all dutiful service to command, Thomas Cadman.   

To the Reader.  
COurteous reader, divers of my friends (that have observed, my former readiness, in exposing the lives and virtues, of many worthy personages deceased, that their good examples might live, in the imitation of their posterity) have charged me to be to remiss, in setting forth the life, death, and virtues, of the most learned, right valiant, & best beloved gentleman, Sir Philip Sidney Knight. But I satisfied my friends, with this reason that I certify unto the general reader, vid. that the error that I saw some hasty writers to commit, for lack of true instruction, and the injury that they did, unto so worthy a gentleman, in publishing his History, not having knowledge of the one half of his virtues, (to shun the blame of two such capital wrongs,) moved me, to be headful, that I published nothing but truth of so true a Knight. From this fear, through zeal proceeded my slowness in writing, which cannot come to late, when good Sir Philip Sidney liveth ever. And for the comfort of those that loved him, or would be like unto him, I further say, that the imitation of his virtues, will eternize their praises, whether they live long, or die soon: for virtue is immortal. Thus wishing, the wish of all good desires to the friendly reader I end, commending unto the same my ready service.  
G. W.   

Of the life, death, and Noble virtues of the most Adventurous Knight Sir Philip Sidney, etc.  

LOng lives the man, that dies in lusty years,  
In actions, that Life, and death despise:  
Alexander 
King Alexander was poisoned by the envy of Antepater being but 24. years of age.  the chief of Royal Peers,  
(Who won one World, and wished another rise.  
That he too worlds, or one might conquer twice)  
In prime of youth, in envies bane did light:  
Yet lives through fame, in spite of every spite.   

And what is Life (the Life of flesh 
The frailty of fleshly life.  and blood)  
A moment's joy, a blast, a blaze, a breath:  
A bitter-sweate, that yields no savoury good,  
A certain cause, that brings uncertain death.  
A rusty sword, closed in a painted sheath,  
Which being drawn to set the soul at large:  
They only live, whom virtue hath in charge.   

Fame is the life, 
Spes famae solet ad virtutem impellere multos.  and joy of valiant spirits,  
Desire whereof, both drive them on the Pike:  
Hap Life, hap death, who first at dangers smites,  
In Country cause, both either fortune like.  
Death cannot daunt, though death them dead doth strike,  
And these be they, that Fame with name doth Crown:  
When shallow Graves the multitude do drown.   

Of such a one, and equal with the best,  
My muse is bound, the praises to revive:  
A Knight he was, that with the foremost press,  
Where martial men, for highest honour strive:  
Within whose breast, the graces all did hive,  
His name (that lives) was Philip Sidney Knight:  
His death blames (not the foe, but) fortunes spite.   

Whom to revive, Mars and the Muses meet,  
In Armour fair, 
The order of the ancient Roman funerals.  his hearse, the have arrayed:  
And on the same, a rob down to the feet,  
About his Helm, a Laurel wreath is brayed,  
And by his Sword a Silver pen is laid,  
And either said, that he their glory was:  
And either sight, to see him vade like Grass.   

But to describe, this worthiss Knight at Large,  
His Life, his death, his gifts from mother's womb▪  
Beseems the Muse that Homer had in charged,  
Who wrote so well upon Achilles' Tomb.  
As Alexander wished, 
The magnanimous desire of Alexander.  that he were dead:  
So Homer lived, his victories to spread.   

And for my Muse, (that worst may pay this dew)  
I well may say, the dead the doth adore:  
Azeale that thrives, God wots but with a few,  
Flattery doth live, 
It is flattery to praise the living, and justice to Commend the dead.  not at the dead man's door.  
Live-men have ears; when Tombs are deaf and poor,  
Yet thus my name, shall with the best remain:  
When such froth vades, like Thunder, smoke and rain.   

Now to this Knight, his house, or Birth to blaze,  
May well be spar'e, his praises to procure:  
The ivy bush, 
His father henry Sidney lord presidente of Wales and his mother the Duke of Northumberlands Daughter.  is but a Needles gaze,  
To sell the Wine, which of itself is pure.  
So swatte a Grape, grew on no Thorn be sure,  
Sidney his sire, and Dudley was his Dame:  
Parents well known of Honour and of fame.   

In tender years, 
The sweet disposition of his youth promised much honour to his eld years.  where one instruction might,  
Graft Lore and Grace: by which men Honour know:  
His virtues blazed so clear in all men's sight,  
As by the same, a number did foreshow.  
What fruits in fine, upon those blomes would grow.  
Even these (the best) Love, 
He was in his time and for his continuane reputed the best scholar in Cambridge.  loyalty, and Zeal:  
To God, to Prince, and to the common weal.   

His wisdom showed, while Learning might engrave,  
Within his pliant mind, her sacred heast:  
He bent his ear to hear the Counsels grave,  
That science taught, 
His travail and knowledge in foreign languages.  and wrote them in his breast  
Thus still with time, his worthiness increaste,  
His name, his fame, his virtues full of grace:  
Was spread, admired, and loved in every place.   

To deck his mind, 
He was honourably entertained of foreign Princes.  with Language, and with Lore,  
In greenest youth, to travail he was set:  
By foreign toys, he set but little store,  
Sound knowledge was the Merchandise he fet.  
And he abroad, 
He was always rich in his martial and decent in his usual apparel.  such worthy praise did get,  
As Princes when his fame they understood:  
They honoured him, by all the means they could.   

The French he saw, and at their follies smil'de,  
He seldom did their gauds in garments ware:  
In Italy his youth, 
He spoke the French and Italian language, but their vices defiled him not.  was not beguiled.  
By virtue he, their vices did forbear:  
Of this bie-speache be evermore had care,  
An Englishman that is Italionate:  
Doth lightly prove a Devil incarnate,   

The German plain, 
He favoured and was much beloved of strangers especially the germans.  his humour best did please,  
They loved him much, he honoured them as far:  
And when the good, he gleaned had from these,  
Home be returned a perfect man, to serve,  
His Prince, 
He brought Riders and other men of quality into England.  and Country, both in Peace and War.  
And after him, men Qualitied did baste,  
And for our good in England he them placed.   

He oft did read, 
He always was a special favourer of Soldiers.  which well he did regard,  
That prudent Peace, had still to War an eye:  
And therefore he the soldier good preferred,  
Whose life, himself, in Ireland did try,  
Till Essex died the flower of Chivallry, 
His service in Ireland in the life of the late most noble Earl of Essex.   
And evermore, the Laurel with the Lance:  
He excerside his Honour to advance.   

What may be said, to praise this knight to much:  
Yea what suffice his virtues to extol:  
In greenest years, 
He was Ambassador to Condole the Emperor's death being then not 22. years of age.  his gravity was such,  
As he was sent in message to Condole,  
The emperors death, which rites he did inrowle,  
With much regard, of that most follome grace:  
As that his name, still liveth in that place.   

In Court he lived, not like a Carpet knight,  
Whose glory is in garments, and his tongue:  
If men but knew, the half that he did write,  
Enough to tire, a memory so young.  
Needs must they say the Muses in him sung,  
His Arcadia, 
His Arcadia, a book most excellently written,  unmacht for sweet devise:  
Where skill doth judge, is held in Sovereign price.   

What else he wrote, 
The last shepherd's calendars the reputed work of S. Phil. Sidney a work of deep learning, judgement & wit disguised in Shep. R●les.  his will was to suppress,  
But yet the dark, a Diamond cannot drown:  
What he his works, the finest wits do guess,  
The shepherds notes, that have so sweet a sound.  
With Laurel boughs, his helm, long since, have Crowned,  
And not alone, in Poesy he did pass:  
But every may, a learned Knight he was.   

Plesses rare work, 
Phil. de Pless. de Veritate relig. Chr. undertaken & a great pa●t translated by S. Phi. Sidney, and at his request ended by M. Arthur Gowlding.  of true Religion,  
Confuting those, which no Religion hold:  
In vuglar speech, by him was well begun,  
A Learned work, more precious far then Gold.  
Worthy his pains: and worthy double fold,  
If his pen might, the hole with English fit:  
Whose words are weighed by judgement, Art, and wit.   

The fault that makes, the wisest seem unwise,  
A self conceit, 
His temperance shown by his emblem Spero.  in wisdom to exceed:  
Was far from him: the word in whose devise,  
Spero, his hope, did from desire proceed.  
Honour to gain, by many a worthy deed,  
On Hope, truth, zeal Learning, and the Lance:  
He built his fame and had no foe but Chance.   

In peace he lived, 
He was generally beloved of all men.  admired of the best,  
In peace he lived, beloved of the worst:  
In peace he lived, and never man oppressed,  
In peace he lived, and ever, with the first.  
Laid help on those, whom fortune had accursed,  
And to be short, the rising son he was:  
That comforted and shined in every place.   

But sith Son, 
The mutability of the world and worldly things.  Moon, and Stars of Heaven must vade,  
And all things else, the World contains below:  
Man can account, his glory but a shade,  
His earthly Life, the slaughter of a blow.  
As well appears, by this our Common woe,  
The worthy Knight of whom this good I sing: 
Entrance unto his unfortunate death.   
Bids sound the Drum, his follow knell to ring,   

But ere it tolls, the sorrow of his death,  
(The grief of Prince, Pear, and every state)  
Let me first show, the cause, that did unsheathe,  
His trenching Sword (In peace which shunned debate)  
Even chiefly this to cool the Spanish hate, 
The first causes that sent the English forces into the Low Countries.   
Who arm'oe with wroth against this happy Isle:  
Our Neighbours burn'de, to make a way for spoil.   

For when we heard the outcries of the Dutch,  
And how their foes, did make their will a law:  
Their harms, that near, did now our safety touch,  
The Lion make (that keeps the Wolf in awe,  
That never yet did fear the eagle's claw,)  
And mildly first, did Lick the wounded sheep:  
Then sent the Bear, the scattered heard to keep.   

To speak more plain, 
Tch Earl of Lecesteer accompanied with a small number but yet men of such value as at sundry times, dismayed and dared the Prince of Parma's whole power.  though this instruck'ts the wife,  
Our Sovereign Queen, that both the Lion bear:  
With pity moved, to hear her neighbour's cries,  
Whom Tyranny, in pieces still did teat.  
She Leicester sent, to awe that common fear,  
And with him went, in this just cause to fight:  
A stout small band, that many put to flight.   

Among the best, and with the first in field,  
This worthy Knight, inflamed with country's zeal:  
His courage armed, 
He went unto his Government before the going over of the Earl of Leicester.  to die ear he would yield,  
His Horse and Lawnce, to serve the common weal.  
He now preferred, and that a mighty deal.  
Before his Lands, his after hope, or UUife:  
Yea (Curtius like) more than his proper life.   

Of Flushing he, 
He was made Lord governor of Flushing.  Lord Governor was made,  
A charge of trust, which he with truth did keep:  
The boarding foe, did find he was no shade,  
He waked them oft, 
By his prudency he discovered the practice of La. Mote who went about to entrap him.  when they had lust to sleep.  
And watched his charge, as shepherds do their sheep,  
His heed at home, his Arm was in the field:  
To guard the fcend, and make the foe to yield.   

He crossed the Seas, not (like to some) for show,  
No weighty cause, 
The death of his honourable father and mother drew him not from the execution of his charge.  could make him leave his charge:  
His Parents deaths, and many causes more,  
Were colours just, to set his zeal at large,  
Flushing then wailed, to miss her trusty Tardge,  
He viu'de her love, and for to do her good,  
He vou'de her aid, and sealed it with his blood.   

His loving Wife, than came to household there,  
The happiest Wife, 
He was married to the daughter and heir of the right Hon. Sir Francis Walsingham by whom he had Issue a daughter.  and now the heaviest wight:  
To sir Francis Walsingham, she was heir,  
Of goods, and gifts, beseeming such a Knight.  
The droomme now sounds, the worthy men to fight,  
A Garrison, his charge, well arm'de to shield:  
He forthwith leaves, and posted to the Field.   

As time, and cause, did will assail the foe,  
Arm'de with the first, still with the last he fought:  
Axle be won, 
The town of Axle was taken by himself being chief of the forces there  and eke at Dewsborough,  
He well made known the valour of his thought.  
At Zutphen last where as his death he caught,  
With charge, on charge, and most by men of name:  
His death enrolls, a fight of lasting fame.   

Which thus fell forth: 
A breiefe of the valiant service done by the English near Zut. the 22. of Sep.  of September now past,  
The 22. the foe in armour bright.  
Into the Town, did with some victual haste,  
And made a brag, but never meant to fight.  
But who can stay the hound, the Heart in fight,  
Or Mars forbidden, to venture on the foe:  
In open field, that proudly maketh show.   

Caesar alone, 
Plu. de vit Cae. De vitae Alex.  on the fierce Neruij ran,  
Alexander leap, from a City wall:  
And by himself, the self-same City wan,  
So we that did, proud Caesar sometime gall.  
Whom no man's power, could ever yet appall:  
That day made known, the ancient English deed:  
Their Uallors left, unto their worthy seed.   

A hunting fight, this Skirmidge may be called,  
Of eager Dogs, for as a Leash we fee.  
A heard of Dear, 
These served on horseback The Earl of Essex.  do scatter, kill, and gaulde,  
Our men but few, with fury so did flee.  
Upon their foes that some amazed be,  
Essex that day reui'ude his Father's name: 
The Lord W. Sir. W. russel. Sir john and Sir Henry Nor. Sir. Th. Parrot. S. Hen. North. Sir. Ihon. Win. 10. Wots. Esq.   
Lord Willowbye charged like a fiery flame.   

Worthy russel that will to no man yield,  
That day saw light, even through the hindmost foe:  
Stout Norrys dared, the Spaniard to the field,  
Parrot struck down Gonsago with a blow.  
The younger North did forward courage show,  
Wingfield did serve like to a hardy knight:  
And Wotton priest into the hottest fight.   


* I. Fis. cf. F. For cl. l. H. es. W. H. es. F. V es. C. Bl. Es. I. H. es. B. Wh. es. Rye. Ha. ge. Ri. F. ge. W. Wr. gen. Cap. Swa. etc.  Fisher, Fortescue, Haydon, Hungate, Veare, Blunt,  
Hynd, Haul, Whetston, Fulford, Vdal, Wroughton, Swain  
With more of name the foe did foil and front,  
The smallest fear that day was held a shame.  
And sure the foe will quite us of that blame,  
Count Hannyball was left in field for dead:  
And Captain George, Lord Willowby Captive lead. 
Count Hann. Gon. was mortally wounded but yet alive. Capt. George taken prisoner. These served on foot, the Lord Aud. Sir. H. Vmp. Sir W. Hatton Sir W. Standly Cap. Cosby. Cap. Tho. cap. Marten Walt. Browne etc.    

On foot that day Lord Audely served well,  
umpton Hatton, as forward as the best:  
Standly (now stained) is hard Skirmidge fell,  
Cosby deserves, his Honour with the rest.  
Thomas was slain, and Mertayne at that Feast,  
Browne ventured far, and so did many more:  
Unknown to me, whose fames their names will show.   

But oh to shade, 
Sir Philip Sidney wounded with a Musket shot in the thigh.  this glory with our woe,  
Hardy Sidney, much like to Mars in view,  
With furious charge, did break upon the foe,  
A Musket shot, his stately horse than slew.  
He horsed again, the fight did soon renew.  
But fortune, that at his renown did spite:  
A bullet sent, that in his thigh did light.   

The wound was deep, and shivered the bone,  
His heart was good, and manly bore this Cross:  
With courage stout, he did suppress the moan,  
That many made, which did behold his loss.  
Vdal then light, softly to lead his Horse,  
Let go quoth he, 
A sign of great courage.  till I fall to the ground:  
The foe shall miss the glory of my wound.   

Forth of the field, with courage stout he road,  
To search his wound, their skill the surgeons show:  
What might be bought, to do him any good,  
What might be wrought, to mitigate his woe,  
What might be sought, to salve his mortal blow,  
Was bought, wrought, sought, his wound, his grief, his life  
To cure, ease, save, but (O) the fatal knife,   

Had grau'de his wound, too deep to draw long breath,  
Had forged his grief, too sharp to relish ease:  
Had thrust his life, into the mouth of death,  
What now remains? since nothing may appease  
The Monster Death, that feeds of his disease,  
Even only this, to show his godly end:  
For sovereign praise, did with his life contend.   

When death he felt, lay heavy in his womb,  
When life he saw, made haste from him to fly:  
My glory now (quoth he) must be my To'mbe,  
In which I could, forbear a while to lie.  
Not that I faun on Life, 
He desired respite of life for the service of his country & profit of his Servants.  or fear to die,  
But) of mere zeal: if with gods will it stood:  
I respite wish, to do my Country good.   

For why as yet, my service is but green,  
My years are young, and brought forth Leaves of late:  
The blomes were fair, but yet no fruit is seen,  
I studied have, to benefit the state.  
To execute I am fordid by fate,  
My countries weal, by me is new begun:  
The hope is lost, my Glass is broke and roune.   

My Life is now, even at the will of death.  
A chance not strange, although the change be great:  
For he that names, his Sword out of the sheath,  
Can hardly say, that he shall scape unbeate:  
Unless he fly, ere cause both sound retreat,  
The name of War is sweet, the praise is fame:  
But hazard bears, twixt Life, and death, the game,   

And sith my Luck, lights on the worse Lot,  
In worth I take, what destiny did draw:  
My loving friends, for you I grieve, God woe,  
My servants true, that held my will for Law.  
Although my will, thereof still stood in awe,  
Your loss is great, because I loved you well:  
Receive my love, and so to both farewell.   

With that he sighted their deep dismay to mind,  
And turned his head, but left with them his heart:  
As he that reads his last request shall find,  
Brother (quoth he) to you I must impart.  
Three things of weight, 
Three weighty precepts unto Sir Robert Sidney his Brother.  impress them in your Heart,  
Fear God, and live: love well my friends: and know,  
That worldly hopes, from vanity do flow.   

Words like himself, the Counsels of a friend,  
Which Somary, all wisdom do contain:  
The fear of God is life, that both not end,  
When all things fail, the love of friends remain.  
Yea all things else, are pleasure mixed with pain,  
Caesar was slain, and Pompey lost his head:  
Their climbing thoughts, their own decay have bread.   

He felt a change, between our life, and his,  
That men's vain hopes, so sound hath describe,  
The healthful talk, but the true feeling miss,  
Of heavenly joys, which in the soul abide.  
Flesh like the world, and relisheth his pride:  
It fears not death, until it feel the pain,  
Who knoweth least, knoweth then this world is vain. 
A difference between the cogitations of the healthful and the sick.    

Who did compare, 
Caius Marius was of that constant courage as he smiled whiles his thigh was a cutting of.  his wound, with patiented pain,  
Said Marius lived, in Sydney's haute desire:  
UUho saw his death, his life perceived plain,  
Was wholly bend, by virtue to aspire,  
UUho herd his words; his wisdom did admit?  
They were so chard'ge, with grace and grave advise,  
As they will live, by usage of the wise.   

A smaller wound, 
He lived 26. days after his mortal wound.  leaves many in the field,  
A greater hurt, his heart could not dismay:  
A month wellnigh, was spent ear he would yield,  
Himself to death, 
Sir Anthony Gwevarro highly commendeth the Epitaph of Basko Figueria the Portugal, which was: Here lieth Basko figueria much against his will.  whom death could not affray.  
And when that time, brought on his later day,  
Demand was made: If he ne feared to die:  
No whit (quoth he,) because I live thereby,   

But urged more, than needed in his state,  
He gravely did, this perfect answer give:  
My death shall (like my life) dissembling hate,  
To tell you plain, * to die I do not give.  
And yet of both, I rather wish to live,  
Which who gaynesaies, unwisely spends his breath:  
He fain would live, that most both prate of death.   

The cause is shown, why he desired Life,  
For public good: but to our common woe:  
Our sins did draw, and sharp the fatal knife,  
His vital thread, to cut and shred in two.  
That his sweet soul, might forth of Prison go,  
Which forthwith fle●●●, to Abraham his breast,  
Where now it reins, and still shall live in rest.   Mors honesta, ignominiosa vita preferenda. 
  

A commemoration of the general moan, the honourable and solemn funeral made for and of the most worthy Sir Philip Sidney Knight by B. W. esquire,  
WHen winters bitter blast, 
He was wounded about the fall of the leaf.  the trees began to bare,  
Sweet Sidney slain, down fell our hope & pillar of welfare:  
He was the rising sun that made all England glad,  
He was the life, and light, of those that any virtues had.  
He was the muse's joy, he was Bellona's shield, 
His virtues and valour.   
With in the Town he was a Lamb, a Lion in the Field:  
His Life bewraed a love, that matched Curtius' zeal,  
His Life, no Life, contempt of death, to serve the common weal,  
No gift, nor grace, there was, but in his virtues shined,  
His worth more worth than Flaunders wealth now by his lass we find:  
For when his sacred soul, 
moon at his departure.  did forth his body fly,  
Ten thousand shrieks pursued the same, unto the starry Sky,  
The stoutest Soldier than showed feminine dismay,  
And with their tears, did wash his wound, that brought him to decay:  
Some kissed his breathless mouth, where wisdom flowed at will,  
Some raised his head, that lately was the treasurhowse of skill,  
Where truth and courage lived his Noble heart some felt,  
Some laid their hands upon his breast, where all the virtues dwelled  
Some eid his closed eyen, that watched the poor-man's need,  
And when they did unwrap his thigh, his wound did make them bleed.  
O honer dearly bought they crid, & monde this chance,  
So shaken his hand, and said farewell, thou glory of the Lance:  
Outcries soon spread his death, 
The King of Scots wrote a passionate Epitaph.  the moan ran far and near,  
What was he than that mourned not, the doleful news to hear.  
The King of Scots, bewrade his grief in learned verse,  
And many more their passions pend, with praise to deck his hearsse  
The Flushingers made suit his breathless corpse to have, 
Great cost was offered to his funeral at flushing.   
And offered a sumptuous Tomb the same for to engrave.  
But oh his loving friends, at their request did grieve,  
It was too much he lost his life, his Corpse they would not leave:  
And so from flushing port, in ship attired with black, 
The ship that brought the body attired and painted with black.   
They did embark this perfect Knight, that only breath did lack.  
The wind and Seas did mourn, to see this heavy sight,  
And into Thames did convey this much lamented Knight:  
Unto the Minories, his body was conveyed,  
And there under a martial hearse, three Months, or more was staid.  
But when the day was come, he to his grave must go,  
An host of heavy men repaired, to see the sollome show:  
The poor whom he good Knight, did often cloth and feed,  
In fresh remembrance of their woe, went first in mourning weed  
His friends and servants said, was thought a heavy sight,  
Who fixed their eyes upon the ground, which now must house their Knight:  
To here the drum and fife send forth a doleful sound,  
To see his colors late advanced, lie trailing on the ground.  
Each ornament of war thus out of order borne,  
Did pierce ten thousand hearts with grief, which were not named to mourn:  
Some marked the great dismay, that charged his martial band,  
And how some horsemen walked on foot, with battle-axe in hand.  
Some told the mourning clocks his gentlemen did wear,  
What Knights, & captains, were in gowns & what the heralds bear  
Some marked his stately Horse, how they hung down their head,  
As if they mourned for their Knight that followed after dead.  
But when his noble corpse, in sollom wise passed by,  
Farewell the worthiest Knight, that lived, the multitude did cry:  
Farewell that hon'rd art, by laurel and the Lance.  
Farewell the friend (beloved) of all, that hadst no foe but chance.  
His sollome funeral beseeming his estate,  
This by the Heralds martialled, the more to moon his fate:  
Three Earls & other Lords, the Holland's states in black:  
With all their train then followed: and that no love might lack.  
The Mayor and Aldermen in purple robes there mourned,  
And last a band of Citizen's, with weapons awkward turned  
In follome wise did bring this Knight unto the ground,  
Who being their best owed at rest their last adieu to sound.  
Two volley of brave shot, they thundered in the skies,  
And thus his funeral did end with many weeping eyes:  
Upon whose Monument in letters writ with Gould,  
This Epitaph deserves to be, for all men to behold.   

Of the most worthy and hardy Knight Sir Philip Sidney the Epitaph.  
HEre underneath, lies Philip Sidney Knight,  
True to his prince, learned, staid and wise:  
Who lost his life in honourable fight,  
Who vanquished death, in that he did despise:  
To live in pomp, by others brought to pass,  
Which oft he termed a diamond set in brass.