The crie of the poore for the death of the Right Honourable Earle of Huntington.
To the tune of the Earle of Bedford.
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O God of thy mercie remember the poore,
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And grant us thy blessings thy plenty & store:
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For dead is Lord Hastinges, the more is our griefe,
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And now up to heaven we cry for reliefe.
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Then waile we, then weepe we, then mourne we ech one.
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The good Earle of Huntington from us is gone.
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To poore and to needie, to high and to low,
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Lord Hastinges was friendly, all people doth know:
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His gates were still open the straunger to feede,
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And comfort the succourles alwaies in neede.
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Then waile we, etc.
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The husbandles Widdow he ever did cherrish,
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And Fatherles Infants he likewise would nourish:
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To weake and to sicke, to lame and to blinde,
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Our good Earle of Huntington ever was kinde.
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Then waile we, etc.
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The naked he clothed with garments from cold,
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And frankely bestowed his silver and gold:
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His purse was still open in giving the poore,
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That alwaies came flocking to Huntingtons doore.
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Then waile we, etc.
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His tennants that daylie repairde to his house,
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Was fed with his bacon, his beefe and his souse:
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Their rents were not raised, their fines were but small
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And manie poore Tennants paide nothing at all.
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Then waile we, etc.
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Such Landlordes in England we seldome shall finde,
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That to their poore Tennants wil beare the like minde,
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Lord Hastinges therefore is joyfully crownde,
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With Angels in heaven where peace doth abound.
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Then waile we, etc.
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His wisedome so pleased the Queene of this land,
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The sword of true Justice, she put in his hand:
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Of Yorke he was President, made by her Grace,
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Her lawes to maintaine and rule in her place.
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Then waile we, etc.
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Such mercifull pittie remainde in his brest,
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That all men had Justice, and none were oprest:
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His Office in vertue, so Godly he spent,
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That Prince and his countrie, his losse may lament.
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Then waile we, etc.
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And likewise Lord Hastings S. Georges true Knight,
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Did weare the goold garter of England so bright:
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The gift of a Prince, King Edward first gave,
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A Gem for a Souldier and Counceller grave.
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Then waile we, etc.
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His coyne was not whorded, to flourish in pride,
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His Rings and his Jewels, and Chaines to provide:
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But gave it to Souldiers, wounded in warres,
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That pike and the bullet, hath lamed with scarres.
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Then waile we, etc.
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He built up no Pallace, nor purchaste no Towne,
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But gave it to Schollers to get him renowne:
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As Oxford and Cambridge can rightly declare,
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How many poore Schollers maintained are there.
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Then waile we, etc.
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No groves he inclosed, nor felled no woodes.
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No pastures he paled to doe himselfe good:
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To Commons and Countrie, he livde a good friend,
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And gave to the needie what God did him send.
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Then waile we, etc.
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He likewise provided in time of great neede:
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If England were forced with warres to proceede:
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Both men and munition, with horses of warre,
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The proude foes of England, at all times to scarre.
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Then waile we, etc.
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Our Queene and our Countrie, hath cause to complaine,
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That death in his furie this Noble hath slaine:
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Yet England rejoyce we, rejoyce without feare,
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Lord Hastinges hath left a most Noble heire.
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Then waile we, etc.
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A thousand poore Widdowes for Huntingtons sake,
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As manie poore children, their praiers will make:
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That God may long prosper his heire left behinde,
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And graunt him old Huntingtons true noble minde.
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Then waile we, etc.
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Then pray we for Countrie, for Prince and for Peares,
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That God may indew them with most happie yeares:
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Lord blesse us with vertue, with plentie and peace,
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And manie more subjects like him to increase.
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Then waile we, then weepe we, then mourne we ech one,
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Our good Earle of Huntington from us is gone.
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