An Epitaph upon the death of the worshipfull
Maister Benedict Spinola Merchaunt of
Genoa, and free Denizon of England, who dyed on
Tuesday the .12. of Julie. 1580.
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AMongst the States of Italie
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that stand and strive for fame,
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There is a Citie passing brave
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that Genoa hath to name.
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Inhabited with noble race,
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Whereas amongst the rest,
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There is a House of Spinolii,
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as noble as the best.
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Of Auncients come from forreine parts,
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as fate did give them leave,
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And by their armes it doth appeare,
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they come from th'house of Cleave.
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From out which stocke a budde of birth,
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inferiour not to any,
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Sprang in this Countries soile of ours,
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a comfort great to many.
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In that most gratious Princes raigne
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Sixt Edward was he sworne
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A Denizen: and ever since
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hath faith and duetie borne.
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Unto the Princes of this Realme
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still prest to doe them good,
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And with them ever since his oath,
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in grace and favour stood.
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At readie hand, at all assaies,
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when Queene or Councell would
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Commaund him ought. He nought refusde
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to doe what thing he could.
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What passeth above my reach to know
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I leave: he lived heere
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A noble Merchaunt every way,
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no straunger was his peere.
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His friendly minde to all men like,
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his word and deede was one,
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And to the honest minded men,
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his pursse was shut from none.
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Amongst the poore imparted he
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the talent God him lent,
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On poore, and setting poore on worke,
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the greatest part he spent.
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With money, meate, and Physicke too,
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the sicke he comforts oft,
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The men decaide that secret wept,
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againe he set aloft.
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The prisoners oft he visited
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with money meate to buy,
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And many did he set at large
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that did for little lye.
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What was his liberall almes abroad
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I neede not for to show it,
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Nor what his bountie every way,
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the poore and rich doe know it.
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His name inferd a godly life,
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for Benedict he hight,
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Oh Spinola thy blessed workes
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are blessed in Gods sight.
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And as his life was liked of,
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unblamde of foe or frend,
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So God did shew his mercies great
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to him in latter end.
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Good memorie to latter gaspe,
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and knowledge of the Lord,
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A minde to praier wholly bent,
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as one that life abhorde.
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With handes erected up aloft,
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and eyes unto the Skies,
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In contrite wise, when speach was gone,
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in godly sort he lies.
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Loe heere his birth: from whence, whose life
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it is that I doe write,
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Whome out (alas) untimely death
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hath smitten with despite.
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Waile may the sicke, weepe maye the poore,
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and heavie many a hart,
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That from so sure a friend as he
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their chaunce is to depart.
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Clay hath his right, death hath his due,
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deserts remaine to Fame,
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God hath his soule: the world his pelfe,
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and brute, his lasting name.
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God graunt thy good example may
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raise up some godly harts,
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To help the poore as thou hast done
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in greevous cares and smarts.
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God is with thee, God be with us,
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God sende us there to dwell
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With Christ and thee in Heaven above,
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my Spinola thus farewell.
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