And over tyme by the eternal fame
Of Natures workes, while God did lende thee breath;
Adornd with witt and skill to rule the same.
But what avayles thy gifts in such degrees
Since fortune frownd, and worlde had spite at these.
Heaven be thy rest, on earth thy lot was toyle;
Thy private loss, ment to thy countryes gayne,
Bredde grief of mynde, which in thy brest did boyle,
Confyning cares whereof the scarres remayne.
Enjoy by death such passage into lyfe