In the rude age, when knowledge was not rife,
If Jove in Crete and other were that taught
Arts to convert to profit of our life
Ween'd after death to have their temples sought:
If Virtue yet, no void unthankful time,
Failèd of some to blast her endless fame
(A goodly mean both to deter from crime
And to her steps our sequel to inflame):
In days of truth if Wyatt's friends then wail
(The only debt that dead of a quick may claim)
That rare wit spent, employed to our avail,
Where Christ is taught, we led to Virtue's train.
His lively face their breasts how did it freat,
Whose cinders yet with envy they do eat.