A reviving of the dead by Verses that followeth: Which makes worthy men known, by the examples of King Henry the eight: King Edward the sixth: Sir Walter Mildmay: the last Earl of Warwick: and Sir Christofer Hatton, lately L. chancellor of England.  
With a declaration of the names of all the most honourable Counsellors, that have died since the beginning of the Queen's majesties reign.  
AT LONDON Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his Shop near the little north door of Saint Paul's Church, at the sign of the Gun. 1591.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOWRABLE M. I. Wolley, Secretary for the latin tongue and one of her majesties Privy Council Thomas Churchyard wisheth increase of honour, abundance of knowledge & blessedness of life.  
IN calling to mind right honourable, the continuance of your favour and amiable countenance towards me: I found myself indebted and unable (but by affection or good will) to deserve the least part of your courtesies, yet looking on your many years spent in learning and knowledge (for the which virtue, God hath called you to an honourable place) I thought by some study (albeit my judgement weak) to lead on your good liking so far into my labours, that you should not only affect my writings: but also accept the poor present I offer. which although they be but papers stuffed full of verses, yet the plaiines of the matter and good meaning of the writer I hope shall purchase some small season (as a passing of the time) to make you behold the willing pains I bestow. This first presumption penneth out the Epitaphs of 2. good Kings that governed this land of late, and showeth by Epitaphs 3. other most honourable Counsellors that died not long ago: unto the which 5. great personages I was bound for benefits received, and so in the end of my days (which cannot be long) to be thankful for good turns and discharging of duty, I have set forth by the passage of those that are gone before, shows here is no certain habitation or sure dwelling place for those that are left hind, placed here below (a little while) to look for a better world above. The Tragedies in my next book called my Challenge) shall make manifest at the full the effect of those passages: of which Tragedies you shall have a sufficient portion, that thereby the world shall see what wrong I have suffered to endure a denial (by busy tongues) of mine own works: Shore's wife shall speak in her kind, to defend me and such as waits on her (because her good fortunes were worthy waiting on) shall tell the world I have been abused, and not justly and rightly understood: and in gods good gifts for his glories sake, my book of Challenge shall challenge all honest labours that ever I did in my days, deny them who please. Now these bare verses and barren Epitaphs bringing no better fruit but the death of some one or other, makes every line unwelcome that shows no cheerful news: but time that discovers all accidents (and death in his fury) brings pardon by the truth that is found and such as in seasonable time do truly utter that becomes them, are half excused though their boldness be great: So neither fearing the open barker that makes a great bruit, nor the privy biter that makes a great wound, to the mildness of your sweet censure I offer these plain Epitaphs that follow, partly to make you believe I am mindful of my promise, and chiefly for that I know my L. chancellors death was sorrowful unto you, so knoweth God who increase your honourable credit.  
Yours in all humbleness at commandment: Thomas Churchyard.   

The Epitaph of the most Triumphant King, King Henry the eight.  

THe flower whose smell is past, lies dead like withered weed:  
the blosom burnt with scorchig blast, yields neither senxt nor seed  
The Sunny day declined, looks like di●●e darksome night:  
Clear clouds o'er cast with blustering wind; soon loseth former light.  
The tree that axe hews down, lies flat where bows do fall:  
And greater things of more renown, are scarce thought of at all.  
When their decay draws on, bid rotten fruit a dew:  
When old delights are dead and gone, world welcomes fancies new.  
Old Kings whose glory shone, as bright as Phoebus' face:  
Lies low in Windsor now alone, with no great-Princely grace.  
To write of Henry's reign, a true discourse to tell:  
A world of wit it would contain, and please the readers well.  
For such a King as he, (though here bewailed with pen)  
Ought still of duty honoured be, among all English men.  
His love to countries soil, (like-Father to his son)  
Kept all true subjects free from foil, how ere world's course did run.  
His word no sooner passed, but at a beck obeyed:  
He stood like Fort full firm and fast, and made his foes afraid.  
His bounty did abound, his largesse had no end:  
Gave freely where deserts he found, yet had enough to spend.  
A flowing Fountain head, that ran fair streams of gold:  
To every place (through pipes of lead) and Conduits treblefolde.  
But chiefly to those men, whose service craved reward:  
There sprouting springs gushed now & then, great grace with great regard.  
A glory great he took, in giving gold as dross:  
As one that still for fame did look, disdaining muck and moss.  
A Lion in the field, that made wild tigers tame:  
And many a worthy Town to yield, so fearful was his name.  
A King that made Kings stoop, and held them all in awe:  
When he himself did never droop, for any thing he saw.  
A King that took no wrong, of none in deed nor word:  
But would have right ere it were long, or try the same with sword.  
The Emperor Charles the fift, came here his love to crave:  
The French King met our King at Guynes, his favour for to have.  
And when he was in France, as fortune flung the main:  
At Flowdan field as was the chance, a noble King was slain.  
Whose Lords at Sollo moss, the old Lord Wharton took:  
The fleet of France at Portsmouth to, durst not on Henry look.  
His Ships burnt Trayport than, and caused that Coast to quake:  
He went before to T●●wyn town, and so Turney did take.  
Won Bulleigne after this, built near it many a seat:  
All yields where King in person is, his presence was so great.  
Whiles these things were in hand, as doubtful balance stood:  
In Scotland many a warlike band, he had for causes good.  
He never card for peace, nor how began the jar:  
If he his Kingdom could increase, or honour win by war.  
Shall such a King now sleep, with crawling worms below?  
Nay rather we his loss should weep, that did defend us so.  
Praise Caesar you that please, and looks into a state:  
There was not borne beyond the seas, nor yet in England late  
So great a King in deed, for many special things:  
Turn over your books, both look & reed, among your famous Kings  
And Henry th'eight shall go, amid the noblest sort,  
When Trump of fame shall shrilly blow, to sound his true report.   
A famous Soldiarlike King.  
FINIS.   

The Epitaph of the most toward imp of grace, King Edward the sixth.  

THe lamp is out, that lightened English hearts,  
Whose lively show, & beauty shone so bright  
And gave such joy, to all our inward smarts,  
That well was him, that had thereon a sight,  
Edward I mean, that was our King by right.  
The golden torch and candle matutyne:  
Did burn and blaze amid his Crystal eyen.  
But well a way, those looks their life hath lost:  
Full dim and dark,  
is now the spark,  
That whilom was the stay of England's boast.   

Now death hath dried this pleasant princely plant  
And hent our hap, an high above the Skies:  
who knows the loss, but they that feel the want  
Wherefore the tears distilleth from our eyes.  
But since this Lamb hath made his sacrifice,  
And offered up his life and victual breath:  
What can we blame but hasty cruel death?  
which plucked therose before his leaves were spread  
yet shall his name,  
remain with fame,  
And flourish still although the flower be dead.   

A face so fraught, with favour blooming still, 
A description of his Royal person.   
A cheer so chaste, subduing each desire:  
A head so ripe, with grace and cunning skill,  
A tongue so decked, and clad in troths attire,  
A heart so meek, and clean devoid of ire.  
An ear so pure to hear the poor man's cause,  
A wit to judge, a zeal to make good laws.  
A hand so clear from blood, look well thereon:  
was seldom seen,  
in youth so green,  
Alas the while, our Lanterns light is gone.   

His wit won praise, as by his ways appears, 
His inward gifts of grace.   
His virtuous steps, won fame among the wise:  
His tender youth, did teach the aged years,  
His sober life rebuked every vice,  
His words & works did pass the pearl in price  
His gestures all, if they were grau'ne in gold,  
A mirror were to learn both young and old.  
Wherefore unmeet the earth is for his grave:  
His place of rest,  
is Abraham's breast,  
A worthy Tomb, for such a King to have.   
FINIS.   

The Epitaph of the right honourable Counsellor, Sir Walter Mildmay Knight.  

IN thirty years there dropped away, from mighty Caesar's train:  
Of chief account that bore great sway, twice 10. twice 4. & twain.  
That ruled by course in Senate seat, whilst glass of life did run:  
Whose fearful frown▪ and angry threat, good subjects sought to shun.  
Each one found friends to wail below, their death with grief of breast  
When from this world these guides did go, to place of greater rest.  
But few in Court, gained more good will, than wise grave Mildmay did:  
In whose mild show and worthy skill, were heaps of virtues hid.  
In Court not only loved alone, but Country yields him fame:  
and boasts, that there his bounty shone, & burnt with quenchless flame  
Like blazing torch on mountain top, that could all blasts abide:  
Yet seemed but little twinkling Star, which is far off espied.  
But every word and sentence sweet, he did in world let fall:  
Expressed an high and noble spirit, and knowledge great withal.  
His silence spoke by stayed looks, but when he moved his tongue:  
Like ting bell of silver sound, the Counsel chamber rung.  
His inward man was armed and clad, with privy coat of proof:  
To use and wear, for others weal, but not his own behoof.  
No malice, wrath, nor angry rage, nor sullen nature strange:  
Can move his mind in all his age, nor make his manner change.  
A Father that could rules set down, of law and learned lore:  
Knit up such points in sentence short, as few had heard before.  
To Princ and state a member fit, that Country could not spare:  
Right sharp of sense, profound of wit, of judgement deep and rare.  
To suitors all of nature good, but to the Prince's men:  
A ready help from root of heart, with head, with hand and pen.  
Not sour, but full of sugared speech, that quonched bitter gall:  
As honey dropped from his lips, where liquor sweet should fall.  
Sir Walter Mildmay water brought, to nourish fountain head:  
Yet gave to those that water sought, and were with fountain fed.  
His promise wrought performance strait, yet aware & wise to speak  
Not won with gifts or worldly sleight, that makes men promise break.  
But drawn by judgement and desert, to show his godly zeal:  
That lodged in loving harmless heart, that honoured public weal.  
His credit so through God began, whose grace was his defence:  
That daily he great credit wan, and went with credit hence.  
When pangs of death approached apace, & would have closed his eyen  
He spoke with mild and cheerful face, glad words that were divine.  
Of each degree as though some Saint, were sent from God above:  
To show how he should served be, in faith, in fear and love.  
Whereat the hearers all 'gan weep, that then their jewel lost:  
Whiles Mildmay mildly fell a sleep, and so gave up the ghost.  
Not dead, death hath but broke the stamp, in Cambridg lives this knight  
Where he set up so fair a lamp, that gives all England light.   
FINIS.   

The Epitaph of the right honourable, Lord Ambrose Dudley Earl of Warwick.  

Leave off to write, spare speech a space, be mute O muse of mine:  
Let blubring tears bedew thy face, O wail with weeping eyen:  
The course of life that draws but breath, in dolor all his days:  
Till heart strings burst, till hour of death, till pilgrim goes his ways.  
Vain pomp is but a puff or toy, so is both rule and reign:  
For all that here we do enjoy, is nought but woe and pain:  
Hast thou not seen the highest tree, receive his falling blow?  
Death hath respect to no degree, when life from hence must go.  
Sat Leyster not in Senate seat, as high as man might climb?  
Was never here, none half so great, nor happy in our time.  
Yet lo, a so deign leave he took, and went where God assigned:  
His Brother that like Mars did look, a man of noble mind.  
Who all good men did praise and love, is packed from us in post:  
Thus when of force men must remove, and world desires him most.  
His glass is run, his date is done, and he must bid farewell:  
to all the pleasures under Sun, and all that here do dwell.  
But Warwick that won great good will, too soon was hastened hence:  
For Warwick was most warlike still, to stand in rights defence.  
To serve the Prince, his purse, or power, was ever ready priest:  
Like Fortress or like stately Tower, in arms among the best.  
To spread in field the ragged staff, against all foreign foes:  
As wind that drives both dust & chaff, in th'air where tempest blows  
So had he mind to thrust them down, that fight with stained troth  
To harm or touch our land, our Crown, our Prince & country both.  
Glad was earl Warwick every way, to do the good he might:  
In Court and Town the world doth say, he never harmed wight.  
He kept the even balance just, that each man had true weight:  
He was a man of special trust, clean void of craft or sleight.  
Most plain of words, most plain of deeds, plain dealing led him through  
Amid these briars & scratching weeds, that wounds plain people now  
No storm nor change could make him turn, he stood like brazen wall  
Against fine world, proud minds, false faith, untruth, and treasons all  
At Norwich in King Edward's reign, amid rank rebels rage:  
The horse he rod on there was slain, in prime of Ambrose age.  
Saint Quintin's where Lord Harry died, sets yet his valour forth:  
At siege of Hawne was Warwick tried, and found a man of worth.  
New-haven till the plague began, he held full safe and sound:  
Where many a valiant Englishman, made Ringrave give them ground.  
No grief, no tort, nor torment sore, could daunt his courage great:  
A lions heart in breast he bore, where hammers long did beat.  
Of one device or other still, and sounded like a bell  
To God's great glory and his will, that conquered death and hell.  
To Heaven held he on his pace, for when his time he knew:  
He did but turn from friends his face, and bad the world adieu.   
FINIS.   

The Epitaph of the most honourable, Sir Christopher Hatton Knight, late Lord chancellor of England.  

LEt drops of blood from wounded heart, bewail our loss of late  
Tears are too base to show the smart, is felt for this great state.  
No mourners voice, nor yelling cries, nor sighs nor sobs may serve:  
Nor all the cunning under skies, from death can life preserve.  
No worldly pomp, nor Prince's grace, can lengthen life an hour:  
All glory lasts but here a space, it withers like a flower.  
A mighty man of great account, whose fate the clouds did climb:  
Whose fortune daily did surmount, great numbers in his time.  
Tells that and much more matter shows, of honours tickle stay:  
That like a candle out it goes, and quickly steals away.  
Long is it ere a tree be grown, to answer our desire:  
But soon are mighty oaks over thrown, and flung in flaming fire.  
No grief so great, as see flowers bud, in gardens where we walk:  
And when their scent should do us good, a storm strikes down the stalk.  
O happy Hatton long in growth, now at thy chiefest years:  
When Prince and Country loned thee both, as by their plaints apeers.  
An angry planet took thee hence, that by thy virtue rose:  
And stood like Fortress of defence, against all foreign foes.  
The Lawyer's joy, the lands delight, the Country's comfort to:  
A ready head and hand to write, where help some good might do.  
To friend most fast, to foe most stern, to poor full frank and free:  
A wit that could deep doubts dezerne, and troth from falsehood see.  
Called for good gifts to special place, and special fortune found:  
Durst show in world a heart and face, with conscience clear and sound.  
That room and credit he possessed, required a man of worth:  
Which he in substance so expressed, by setting justice forth.  
That common people still salutes, his soul with blessings sweet:  
A tree that brings forth such good fruits, for common weal most meet.  
A chosen chancellor from above, to please the best below:  
Won open fame and secret love, of those that wisdom know.  
Held house where bounty largesse cried, & kept so great a train:  
As argues now when that he died, good mind did glory gain.  
Loved friends & servants more than gold, and precious was the poor  
Sought help by suit or mildly would, crave alms at Hattons door.  
In suits he held an even hand, as balance goes by weight:  
The worst to fall, the best to stand, and hear their judgement straight.  
The judges of the law can tell, the justice of his mind:  
And so the world can witness well, what grace good men did find.  
The good he did shall never die, and so O worthy Knight:  
Though low in earth thy body lie, and soul have taken flight.  
A higher place we hope thou hast, and dost with Angels dwell:  
For brunt of worldly broils are past, as shows thy last farewell.   
FINIS.   

lenvoy.  

WHo mourneth more than he that made this Verse?  
To whom good turns, this Lord did often send:  
Come noble Guard, and kneel before his hearse,  
Whose helping hand, your wages did amend.  
Come servants all, and do his fame defend▪  
That made you climb, up the great Chamber stairs:  
And come 〈…〉 with me some tears.  
Come come away, 〈…〉 lies,  
That cou●●ance ga●e to more than I will show:  
Come every one, in black sad mourning guise;  
And wait on him, that to the grave doth go,  
Come fall in rank, that doth your Captain know.  
And trail your s●●ues, along hard stony ground:  
And cry la mort, when doleful drum doth sound.  
This body must be buried all with shot,  
Because he once was in a Princely band:  
And of a Prince, such grace and favour got,  
He bore the sway and Seal of all this land,  
Come pensioners, that by your standard stand  
And bring to Church, in shining armour bright:  
In Marshal march, this three fold happy Knight.   
FINIS  
Thomas Churchyard.   


The names of all the most honourable Counsellors that have died since the beginning of her majesties Reign.  
Sir Thomas Cheyney. treasure.  
The Earl of Shrewsbury.  
Sir Edmond Peckham.  
Thomas Parry, Treasurer.  
Francis Earl of Huntingdon.  
Doctor Wotton.  
Sir john Mason.  
Sir Richard Sackuild.  
Sir Edward Rogers Comptro.  
The Earl of Pembroke.  
Duke of Norfolk  
Sir Ambrose Cave.  
earl of Derby.  
M. of winchester, L. Treasurer.  
Marks of Northampton.  
Sir james a Croft. Contr.  
Sir F. Walsingham. Secret.  
Secretary Smith.  
Secretary Wilson.  
L. William Howard, L. Cham.  
Sir Nicholas Bacon L. Keeper.  
The Earl of Sussex L. Chan.  
The Earl of Bedforde.  
The Earl of Lincoln L. Ad.  
Sir Henry Sidney.  
Sir Ralphe Sadler.  
Sir Thomas Bromley L. Chan.  
Earl of Leicester.  
Sir Amyas Paulet  
Sir Water Mildemaie.  
Earl of Arundel.  
Sir William Peter  
Earl of Warwick.  
Last Earl of Shrosbury.  
Sir Christopher Hatton. L. Chancel.   
FINIS.