Sir Willyam Pickryngrs Epitaphe.

MY sences slept in rest, the quiet couche I take:
When worlds reporte with hurlyng brute,
badde sluggishe muse awake.
And whett the blunted witts,
on mournyng matter newe:
(A heauie happe, a soddaine chance,)
that thousandes ought to rewe.
What fortune is befalne, in worlde quod I of late:
Is any braunche or member hurte, that erst hath serude the state.
Or is some sproute decaied, or tree blowne donne by blast:
That through mans skill & sweate of browes, might growe & stande ful fast.
There is quod Fame to me, a worthie wight gone hence:
Now dedde' that late was quicke and ripe, of iudgement wit & sence.
And Pickryng was his name, whose mynde was sure so greate:
The noble browes bare witnesse plain, where hamers still did beate.
A man that credite wonne, by seruice sondrie waies:
A Tully bothe with penne and tong, at proofe moste worthie praies.
And surely from the Gods, the rarest gifts posseste:
That euer in these drousie daies, did lodge in one mans breste.
Looke not I should rehearse, what all his vertues weare:
But looke amid these worldly happs, how he hym self did beare.
When Fortune turude her face, he smothly let it slide:
The want of will at no tyme could, in looks nor life be spide.
If happe had faunde on hym, he changde no chere therefore:
In equall ballance stoode the weight, of chaunces lesse or more.
As wisedome clockte his cares, so stoutnesse staied his minde:
And custome taught hym how to taste, the toiles that here we finde.
In learned Platoes rules, good Pickryng pleasure tooke:
And shonde the worlde to sort hym self, with gladsome golden booke.
Emong a worlde of men, in deede fewe freends he chose:
Yet with a manly modest meane, he could reclaime his foes.
His port and presence sutche, he was for Court full fitte:
And for his graue and deepe foresight, he might in councell sitte.
The life that here he ledde, giues still sufficient light:
For skilfull heads and scannyng minds, to wrest his maners right.
Now hath he that he sought, and dwells aboue in blis:
Where good mens soulls as worlde thei leaue, at length shall meete with his.
When Fame had told her tale, I cald for paper streight:
And in suche verse as here you reade, I put these words of weight.