❧ An Epitaph upon the death of the right honourable Edward Earl of Derby, Lord Stanley and Strange of Knocking, Lord and Governor of the Isles of Man, Knight of the Noble order of the Garter, and one of the Queen's Majesties most honourable privy Counsel. Deceased the. xxiv. of Novem. 1572.  

SHall shaking hand with drilling tears, deliver rural verse?  
my mourning Muse doth bid me stay, unable to rehearse.  
The noble acts of Derby Earl, that late had breath and life:  
who was through Realm and foreign land, beloved of man and wise.  
But sure as tears do case the heart, that plunged is in pain:  
and Sorrow she will belch forth sobs, in seeking rest again.  
Can country now at once refuse, with dolours thus oppressed?  
To shed forth tears, sith Darbye Earl, is thus now clapped in chest.  
Who though in years he was, more fit for the grave,  
then long to live, yet may we say, to soon did death deprave.  
This noble valiant Earl, of his aspiring breath:  
whose sage advise thus lost may be, his country's second death.  
Though he in Ormeschurch lie, enclosed now in slime:  
yet shall his facts enforce his fame, up to the skies to climb,  
Though ugly Mors with spite, have reft him of his life:  
yet shall his worthy deeds declare, his knowledge was full rife.  
That he in setting joint and bone, as staunching bloody wound,  
to few that Surgery doth profess, so much doth understand.  
Let sycophants that nolve do seek, by this his death to raise:  
yet let them know his worthy facts, hath merited great praise.  
Not fines no time he raised, but tenants were content:  
and yet ye shall not hear of world, he greatly raised his rent.  
No toiler in the law, though he had proffered wrong:  
nor yet would seem to 'ppresse his foe, though he was mighty strong.  
But he by meekness made, his foe to be his friend:  
the wisest way, all wisemen say, all quarrels so to end.  
You nobles do behold, your peer do not forget:  
who did not long in merchants book, delight to stand in debt.  
Who knew the merchants trade, his money was his plough:  
and would not payment long delay, that dishonour should not grow.  
O noble Earl of stature mean, but yet of manly heart:  
in Scotland thou, with Norfolk Duke, at Kelzey played thy part.  
Of Derby Earl, as Lord of man, and of the Garter Knight:  
and one that in his Prince's grace, had very much delight.  
Both for his faith the which, unto her grace he owed:  
and also for his wisdom grave, in counsel often showed.  
A mind that did delight, in yielding Justice dew,  
an ear still bending down to hear, poor Sewtors that did sew.  
A heart that rude the plight, of those that were oppressed:  
a knee to bend to Princely throne, to have their cause redressed.  
A foot that ready was, to ride, to run, or go:  
to help the weak that Midas might, was like to overthrow.  
An eye that single was, and not with lucre stained:  
a hand to help the hungry poor, he in nowise refraind.  
How many now shall want, to have wherewith to feed?  
their hungry corpses which in his life, received relief at need.  
What mourning make his friends, of him that are bereft?  
what mourning make his yeomen all, that he behind hath left?  
How doth his neighbours all, that devil in Lancashire?  
with sobs and tears they do deplore, this death of his to hear.  
With tears we all are forced, this noble Earl to wail:  
although that death hath brought to him, a life of greater veil.  
Though Mors his corpses have feast, that danger none could daunt:  
yet in his end a subject true, as fame shall ay avaunt.  
No Traitor could him train, at no time to rebel:  
nor Papist could him aught persuade, he liked them not so well.  
To deal by their device, to hold with Scottish dame:  
nor Duke that's dubbed, nor Percies pride, that sought their country's bane.  
Though Papists him extol, and make the world believe:  
yet at his death he them renounst, and to his Christ did cleave.  
He knew their trash be such on, Mass he did not build.  
but only called one Jesus Christ, to help him win the field.  
And thus he died in Christ, no help he sought from Pope:  
but in the death and blood of Christ, he put his fixed hope.  
Though slow of tongue to talk, of curious questions fine:  
yet one that read the Scriptures much, no doubt a good Divine.  
He practised that in life, that he in Scriptures found:  
and so he built upon the rock, and not on shiveling sand.  
No blood he brought in Mary's days, to burn or for to broil:  
nor well he liked of Spanish pride, that sought this Realm to spoil.  
Now is this Earl from Lathum gone, turn horse another away:  
the saint is fled, though shrine remain, where he was wont to stay.  
Let Lancashyre, and Cheshire both, with tears bring Corpses to grave:  
For lo, his happy soul in heaven, the blessed Angels have.  
As he in honour run, a happy race to end:  
So to his son now Noble Earl, God grant him grace to bend.  
To tread his Father's trace, to stay in Gospel pure:  
so shall he live in father's fame, that ever shall endure.   Vivat post funera Virtus. 
¶ john Denton Minist.   

¶ Imprinted at London by W. Williamson, dwelling in Distaff Lane.