Under this stone ther lyeth at rest

Under this stone ther lyeth at rest
A frendly man, a worthie knight
Whose hart and mynde was ever prest
To favor truthe to farther ryght.

The poores defence, his neigbors ayde,
Most kynde alwayes unto his kyne
That stint all servys that myght be stayed,
Whose gentell grace great love dyd wyne.

A man that was full ernest sett
To serve his prince at all assayes :
No sycknes coulde hym from that lett
Which was the shortnynge of his dayes.

His lyf was good, he dyed full well;
The body here, the soule in blys.
With lenght of wordes whie shoulde I tell
Or farther shewe that well knowne is?

Sins that the tears of more and lesse
Rightwell declare his worthynes.