He who with constant love doth gifts bestow
On one who lives and can his kindness know,
Perchance a legacy expects in turn;
But he who honours thus a funeral urn
Shows the great gulf 'twixt goodness and pretence,
For naught but solace hopes he from expense.
Such is your gift, by rumour known to all,
Who will not let the name of Blaesus fall
To sheer oblivion, but with birthday feast
After his death his glory have increased,
And from rich purse the clerkly throng supply
With funds to celebrate his memory.
While life remains, this shall your tribute be;
And when you die this feast we still shall see.