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EBBA 32400

Huntington Library - Britwell
Ballad XSLT Template
An Epitaph upon the death of the honorable, syr Edward Saunders
Knight, Lorde cheefe Baron of the Exchequer, who dyed the .19. of November. 1576.

YOU Muses weare your mourning weedes, strike on the fatal Drome,
Sounde Triton out the Trumpe of Fame, in spite of Parcas dome:
Distyll Parnassus pleasant droppes, possesse Pierides plase,
Apollo helpe with dolefull tune, to wayle this wofull case.
Wring hard your handes, wayle on your losse, lament the fate that fell,
With sobbes and sighes to Saunders say, oh Saunders nowe farewell.
Whom Phoebus fed with Pallas pappe, as one of Sibils seede,
Loe here where Death did rest his corpes, the vermines foule to feede:
Whom Impes of Jove with Nectar sweete, long in Libethres noursht,
Behold howe dreadfull Death him brought, to that whence he came first.
Lycurgus he for learned lawes, Rhadamanthus race that ranne,
Another Nestor for advise, Zaleucus fame that wanne.
A Damon deare unto his freend, in faith like Phocion found,
A Cato that could counsell geve, to prince a subject sound:
Not Athens for their Solon sage, not Rome for Numa waile,
As we for Saunders death have cause, in flooddes of teares to saile.
Not Sparta card for Chilos death, ne proud Prienna prest,
To weepe for Bias as we wayle, our Saunders late possest.
His learned pathes his talentes rare, so nowe by Death appeares,
As he that Salomon sought to serve, in prime and youthfull yeares,
His counsell sadde, his rules, his lawes, in countrey soyle so wrought,
As though in Cuma he had been, of sage Sibilla taught:
His vertuous life was such I say, as Vertue did embrace,
By Vertue taught in vertuous schoole, to growe in vertuous race:
Might tender babes, might orphantes weake, might widowes rere the cry,
The sound thereof should pearce the cloudes, to skale the empire sky:
To bidde the goddes to battel bend, and to dissend in sight,
Though farre unfit, and mates unmeete, with mortall men to fight.
Too late (alas) we wyshe his life, to soone deceived us Death,
Too little witte we have to seeke, the dead agayne to breath.
What helplesse is, must carelesse be, as Natures course dooth shewe,
For Death shall reape what life hath sowen, by Nature this we knowe:
Where is that erce Achilles fled, where is king Turnus shroude,
What is become of Priamus state, where is Periander proude:
Hector, Hanno, Hanibal, dead, Pompei, Pirrhus spild,
Scipio, Cirus, Caesar slayne, and Alexander kild.
So long there Fortune fast dyd floe, and charged Fame to sound,
Tyll frowning Fortune foyld by fate, which fawning Fortune found:
Shun Fortunes feates, shake Fortune of, to none is Fortune sound,
Sith none may say of Fortune so, I Fortune faithfull found.
Beholde where Fortune flowed so fast, and favoured Saunders lure,
Tyl fickle Fortune false agayne, did Saunders death procure.
Lo clothed could in cloddes of clay, in drossy dust remayne,
By fate returnd from whence he came, to his mothers wombe agayne.
Who welnigh thirtie yeeres was Judge, before a Judge dyd fall,
And judged by that mighty Judge, which Judge shall judge us all.
The heavens may of right rejoyce, and earth may it bewayle,
Sith heaven wan, and earth hath lost, the guide and arke of vayle.
There gayne is much, our losse is great, there myrth our mone is such,
That they may laugh as cause doo yeelde, and we may weepe as much:
O happy he, unhappy we, his happe dooth aye encrease,
Happy he, and haplesse we, his hap shall never cease.
We live to dye, he dyed to live, we want, and he possest,
We bide in bandes, he bathes in blisse, the gods above him blest.
Being borne to live, he lived to dye, and dyed to God so plaine,
That birth, that life, that death, doo shewe, that he shall live agayne:
His youth to age, his age to death, his death to fame applied,
His fame to tyme, his time to God, thus Saunders lived and dyed.
O happy life, O happier Death, O tenne times happy he,
Whose happe it was such happe to have, a Judge this age to be.
Oh joyfull time, oh blessed soyle, where Pallas rules with witte,
O noble state, O sacred seate, where Saba sage dooth sitte.
Like Susan sound, like Sara sadde, with Hesters mace in hande,
With Judiths sworde Bellona like, to rule this noble lande.
I had my wyll, you have your wishe, I laugh, rejoyse you may,
I wan now much, you gaine no lesse, to see this happy day.
Wherein I died, wherein you live, Oh treble happy cost,
Wherein I joyed in glory greate, wherein you triumpth most.

Kneele on your knees knocke hard your brests, sound forth the joyful Drome,
Clappe loude your hands, sounde Eccho say, the golden worlde is come.
Rejoyce you Judges may of right, your mirth may now be such,
As never earst you Judges had, in England mirth so much.
Here Cuma is, here Sibill raignes, on Delphos seate to sitte,
Here shee like Phoebus rules, that can Gordius knotte unknitte.
I lived to nature long yenough, I lived to honor much,
I lived at wish, I died at wyll, to see my country such.
As neither needes it Numas lawes nor yet Apollos sweard,
For Mauger Mars, yet Mars shalbe of this our Queene afeard.
O peerlesse pearle, O Diamond deer, O Queene of Queenes farwell,
Your royall Majestie god preserve, in England long to dwell.
Farwell the Phoenix of the woorld, farwell my soveraigne Queene,
Farwell most noble vertuous prince, Minervas mate I weene.
No Juel, Gemme, no Gold to geve, no perles from Pactolus lo,
No Persian Gaze, no Indian stones, no Tagus sandes to show.
But faith and will to native soyle alive and dead I finde,
My hart my mind my love I leave, unto my prince behinde.
Farwell you nobles of this land, farwell you Judges grave,
Farwell my felowes freends and mates, your Queene I say God save.
What rise in time in time dooth fall, what floweth in time dooth ebbe,
What lives in time. in time shall die, and yeelde to Parcas webbe.
The sunne to darknesse shall be turnde, the starres from skies shall fall,
The Moone to blood, the worlde with fire shall be consumed all.
As smoke or vapour vanishe streight, as bubbles rise and fall,
As clowdes doo passe, or shadowe shiftes we live, we die so all.
Our pompe our pride, our triumph most, our glory greate herein,
Like shattering shadowe passe away, as though none such had bin.
Earth, water, ayre, and fyre, as they were earst before,
A lumpe confused, and Chaos calld, so shall they once be more.
And all to earth, that came from earth, and to the grave descend,
For earth on earth, to earth shall goe, and earth shalbe the end:
As Christ descended up in cloudes, so Christ in cloudes shall come,
To judge both good and badde on earth, at dreadfull day of dome.
From whence our fleshe shall ryse agayne, even from the drossy dust,
And so shall passe, I hope unto, the mansion of the just.


Lodowick LLoyd.
Imprinted at London by H.S. for
Henry Disle, dwellyng at the Southwest doore
of Saint Paules Church, and are there
to be solde
December .3.

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