Sir Ihon Constables Epitaphe.

IN lookyng through these worldly happs,
(so walkyng where I would:)
And waiyng well with equall paies,
the weight of yearthly mould.
I heard a sadd, and priuie voice,
as though some fearfull spreete:
(In hollowe Caue, or vaute of stone)
had spoke from shroudyng sheete.
It badde me looke to true report, that Tymes cheef daughter is:
And sett a side all fonde affects, whiche leads the penne amis.
Thou hast quod he for fauours sake, prais'd some thou didst not knowe:
I was thy freende, wherefore in verse, my course of life doe showe.
These woords pronouncst, he silence kept, and vanisht so awaie:
His soule to Skies, his fame to worlde, his corps to clotts of claie.
Then to my Muse, I gan repaire, with harte as cold as stone:
And so with dolefull verse bewaield, the death of good sir Ihon.
Who ledde his life in greate renowne, and neighbours loue with all:
And seru'd the state on his owne charge, when prince did please to call
By Northen broils that bred mutche bale, and subiects trothes were tried
His great good will to dueties bounds, & loiall faith was spied.
He alwaies stoode to rightfull thyngs, and would not swaie a wrie:
To any pointe, wherein reproche, or losse of name did lye.
A freende that was not lightly loste, and did good tournes bestowe:
Where cause requirde & librall hart, through bounties springs should flowe.
A house he kept of greate expence, and daiely at his doore:
(With that good store that God him blest,) he helpt to feede ye poore.
He married twise in noble race, and kept a noble traine:
And freely gaue good seruaunts Farms, to recompence their paine.
He bare to freends sutche perfite loue, that to the howre of death:
He neuer failed any one, as long as he had breath.
He had greate suites and troubles too, that many sorrows bryngs:
Yet ere he died with worship greate, he ended all those thyngs.
He gaue good lands, for Scholers weale (as was the auncient gies)
And made an Almes house for the poore, in Halsham where he lyes.
All Holdernesse that knewe hym well, doeth misse his presence now:
So iuste and worthie eurie waie, were all his doyngs throw.
But when the fruite of tree is ripe, or men be at the beste:
Doune doe thei drop, & at the length, in yearth with worms thei rest.
Yet good mens ghosts, do clime the clouds, & drawes where God in trone.
Brings chosen lambs, to endlesse ioy, fro worldly care & mone