Scullion's life he forsook,
To be a merchant good,
And soon began to look
How well his credit stood.
After that, he was chose
Sheriff of the city here,
And then full quickly rose
Higher, as did appear:
For, to the city's praise,
Sir Richard Whittington
Came to be in his days,
Thrice mayor of London.
More his fame to advance,
Thousands he lent the king,
To maintain war in France,
Glory from thence to bring.
And after, at a feast
Which he the king did make,
He burnt the bonds all in jest,
And would no money take.
Ten thousand pounds he gave
To his prince willingly;
And would no penny have
For this kind courtesy.
As God thus made him great,
So he would daily see
Poor people fed with meat,
To shew his charity:
Prisoners poor cherish'd were,
Widows sweet comfort found:
Good deeds, both far and near,
Of him do still resound.
Whittington's College is
One of his charities;
Record reporteth this
To lasting memories.
Newgate he builded fair,
For prisoners to lie in;
Christ-church he did repair,
Christian love for to win.