Norwiche must honours give he did not crave,
Norwiche must lend his palace and his grave:
And that kinde hearte which gave such vertue birth
Must here be shrouded in the greedie earth.
Ofte hath thy humble lay-clerke led along,
When thou wert by, the eve or matin song;
And oftimes rounde thy marble shall he strole,
To chaunte sad requiems to thy soothed soul;—
Sleep on, till Gabriel’s trump shall break thy sleep,
And thou and I one heavenlie holiday shall keep.