Though betters pen the praise
of him that earned fame,
Yet pardon men of meaner skill
if they attempt the same
Good will may be as great
in simple wits to write,
In commendation of the good,
as heads of deeper sight
Wherfore among the rest
that rue this Earles want,
My selfe will set my Muse abroach,
although my vaine be scant
This Realme hath lost a lampe,
that gaue a gallant show:
No stranger halfe so strange to vs
but did this Noble know
His vertues spred so farre,
his worthy works so wide,
That forrain princes held him deere,
where so he was imploid.
Whose wit such credite won
in countrey seruice still,
That Enuie could not giue the checke,
nor rancor reaue good will
He euer kept the roume
that prince and fortune gaue:
As courteous in the countrey, as
in court a Courtier braue.
To low and meanest men
a lowly mind he bore,
No hawtie hart to stoute estates,
vnlesse the cause were more
But than a Lions hart
this dreadfull Dragon had:
In field among his foes, as fierce,
as in the Senate sad.
Had Pallas at his birth
for Pembroke done hir best,
As nature did: then Pembroke had
surmounted all the rest
For though that learning lackt
to paint the matter out,
What case of weight so weightie was,
but Pembroke brought about?
By wit great wealth he wonne,
By fortune fauour came:
With fauor friends, and with the friends,
assurance of the same.
Of Princes euer praisd
aduaunst and staid in state:
From first to last commended much,
in honors stoole he fate
Beloued of Henry well,
of Edward held as deere:
A doubt whether sonne or father loued
him best as might appeere
Queene Mary felt a want,
if Pembroke were away:
So greatly she affied him,
whilest she did beare the sway.
And of our peerelesse Queene,
that all the rest doth passe,
I need not write, she shewd hir loue
whose Steward Pembroke was
Sith such a noble then,
by death our daily foe,
Is rest this realme, why do we not
by teares our sorowes show?
Why leaue we to lament?
why keepe we in our cries?
Why do we not powre out our plaints
by condites of our eies?
Our noble prince, our peeres,
both poore and rich may rue,
And each one sorow Pembroke dead,
that earst him liuing knew.
Yt ioy in one respect,
that he who liued so hie,
In honors seat his honor saued,
and fortunde so to die.
Which stocke of noble state
sith cruell death hath rest,
I wish the branches long to bud,
that of the roote are left.
And prosper so aliue,
as did this noble tree,
And after many happy dayes,
to die as well as hee.