Classic Poem

To shewe their cause of dole, whom Wingfields death doth pearse,
Good Muse, take thou a little paine his vertues to rehearse.
Hee wel was knowne to spring from house of auncient name,
Yea, leave his armes, and blase his actes, and you shall see the same.
His zeale to serve his God, his care to save his soule,
His stoute contempt to Romish ragges, their taxe, their tyth, and toule.
The Gospell that hee lov'd, his life that showde no lesse,
Bare witnesse that in words and workes the trueth he did professe.
Beleeve his blessings else, which hee receyv'd from hie,
The first long life in happie health, till age inforst him die:
And then this comfort sweete, to free his age from feares,
Hee sawe his children live and like in credite many yeares.
Sufficient wealth hee had, ynough hee thought a feast,
Hee had ynough, hee spent ynough, and with ynough deceast.
His credite with his prince continued from his youth,
(A sight most rare) in office plast hee trust returnde with trueth.
Full fiftie yeares and twoe a justice place hee usde,
For common peace, and profite both, hee seeldome paynes refusde:
Hee weeded wronges from right by law, and not by ame,
Hee kept this course, to helpe the poore, the lewd againe to blame.
His life upright and just, he joyde in no mans thrall,
His dealings were both lov'd and likt among his neighbours all.
His bountie at his bord, his store for every sort,
The hie, the lowe, the riche, the poore, wrought him a rare report.
And thus long time hee liv'de in credite and in love,
Till death, to worke his joy, our griefe, his force began to prove:
But yet hee sicknes sent, for to forewarne him first,
Whose honest minde, whose conscience cleare, straight bade him doe his wors't.
And so with hope of heaven unto the grave hee vailde,
Of which hee glad, his friendes as sad, if sorrowe ought prevailde.