[?]
benefactor, the worthy Earle of Bedford.
To the tune of Light of Love.
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WE goe to brave buildinges of faire bricke and stone,
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Where men of great calling live lordly alone,
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We aske it for Gods sake, but none will come neare us,
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We crave it for Christes sake, yet no man will heare us.
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Lord helpe us, Lord helpe us, Lord helpe us with speed
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Come now Lord & helpe thy poore people that need.
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For Good-hospitalitie was kild long agoe,
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And our good House-Keepers have felt the like woe:
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For Usurie hath gnawed and eaten them as rust,
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And nev[e]r would leave them, till leave them he must.
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Now Charitie is choaked with picking bare bones,
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And Povertie compelled to lie on cold stones:
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And Good men that give, are soone dead and rotten,
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But God that doth give all, is soonest forgotten.
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Thou gav'st us a helper while here he did live,
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Whose handes was not emptie his almes for to give:
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But now Lord we lacke him, he is clothed in clay,
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And woe be to thee death, that tooke him away.
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Our good Earle of Bedford, that man it is he,
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Which caused this weeping and wayling to be:
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And blame us not brethren, we beare him in mind,
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Such good men as he was, few we can find.
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He was no such Courtier all dayes of his life,
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That ever begd living from poore man or wife:
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Though some would have done it, & sought for to get them
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Yet no man so ready as he was to let them.
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Methinkes yet he liveth, and standeth in place,
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Preferring the poore man to come to her Grace
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To talke and to tell her, she may understand,
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Some Courtier hath begged his house and his land.
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Then comes the poore Widow, and she wrings her hands
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My good Lord of Bedford now thus our case standes:
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Our Commons are caught up, where we fed our beastes,
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Lord Bedford now helpe us the same to release,
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Then like a kind Father, good people, sayth he,
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I am very willing your helper to be.
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Our Queene is so gratious and loving indeed,
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That what I aske for you, I know I shall speed.
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Her Highnesse then hearing his Honour was there,
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Sayth to him, My Lord I pray you come neere:
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What writing have you there, may I understand?
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He kisses it most humbly, and gives in her hand.
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[H]er Majestie reades it, and saith, who doth owe it?
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[?]es her: she thankes him that would let her know it.
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[?]th she, My good Lord I pray you proceed,
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[?] Honour shall do a good deed.
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[?] will you have more?
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[?] hurteth the poore:
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[?] now and alwayes,
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[?] then your dayes.
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What man is he living that now th[?]
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And hath his eyes open, can keepe the [?]
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To thinke how few good men there d[?]
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And how soone they happen to come to d[?]
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Yet let us not marvell if death will not sta[?]
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For when the Lord sendeth, then lyfe must a[?]
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And life is uncertaine in this world to men,
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But death is most certaine: what shall we say th[?]
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But now who is ready to ride for the poore?
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Nay, who is not ready to shut up his doore?
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And gleane from him cunningly his house and his land,
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But none of Gods chosen, takes such thinges in hand.
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But time overtakes me and I cannot show,
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So much as I would, nor halfe that I know:
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For many men wealthy, do give up housekeeping,
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And many poore Widdowes sit wayling and weeping.
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And many that misse him, do earnestly pray,
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That God of his goodnesse would fetch them away:
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And many poore children cryes out, they have wrong,
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And many poore Ploughmen sits singing this song.
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Gone is our provider of money and corne,
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Oh this was the best man that ever was borne:
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For sicke and sore folke, for hale and for lame,
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His Pursse was a playster or salve for the same.
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For who hath not seene in every streete,
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What flockes of poore people his Honour should [?]
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He mindfull of mercy, then wayling their griefe,
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With handes of compassion, did give them relie[?]
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And bad them returne, and give God the prayse[?]
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This good Earle of Bedford thus ended his dayes:
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The earth was now ready to yeeld him a grave,
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The heavens were as ready his soule to receive.
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Now let our rich Stewards take heed how they lyve,
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For though not in this worlde account they must give,
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When God hath in justice their conscience appealing,
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Their judgement is, Sathan take them for their dealing.
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And then this good Steward the Lord calleth neare,
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And sayth, thou art blessed: thy Conscience is cleere:
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For thou hast had always a care and regard,
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And now thou art come to receive thy reward.
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The Crowne of all glory I give unto thee,
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With life everlasting: receive them of mee.
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A blessed receiving good people is this:
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And thus the Lord dealeth with all that be his.
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As for our rich worldlinges that live without shame,
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There is a place also [?]
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No Heaven, but a [?]
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No mercie, but [?]
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Their gold [?]
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They have [?]
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They take [?]
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But onely [?]
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Now G[?]
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That [?]
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Ou[?]
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To[?]
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And [?]
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Th[?]
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Lord [?]
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And L[?]
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