❧ An Epitaph on the death, of the Right honourable and virtuous Lord Henry Wrisley, the Noble Earl of South hampton: who lieth interred at Touchfeelde in the County of hamshire, the 30. day of November 1581. and in the 24. year of our most dread and Sovereign Lady Elizabeth by the grace of God, of England, France & Ireland Queen. etc.  

YOu noble Peers refrain,  
Your courtly sports a while:  
Cast on your wailful weeds of woe,  
Dame pleasure do exile.  
Behold a platform plain,  
Of death, fit for the Grave:  
Who late enjoyed a living Soul, as you this season have.  
His birth right noble was, honour beset him round:  
But Death amidst his lusty years, hath shrined him in the ground.  
When time is come he weights, according God's decree:  
To conquer life, respecting not the mightiest in degree.  
Entreaty cannot serve, Death seeks no golden gift:  
For from his reach no potentate, to fly can make the shift.  
The Glass run forth at large, the hour fully spent:  
To share life's thread a sunder he, by mighty jove is sent.  
The dance of Death no King, nor Kayser but must trace:  
The Duke, the Earl, the Lord & knight to him must yield a place  
The aged old, the middle sort, the lusty youth in prime:  
To live on earth cannot enjoy, the certainty of time.  
For as time hath no stay, but fleeteth every hour:  
So is the life of mortal men, compared to a flower.  
Whose beauty known to day, to morrow fadeth quite:  
And vanisheth, as though thereof, Man never had the sight,  
So fickle is our state, we fading Flowers be:  
To day alive, to morrow dead, according God's decree.  
Of life no Charters given, to any worldly wight:  
Oh who can say that he shall live, from morn unto the night.  
He that at first gave life, of life will bear the sway:  
And when him likes, as pleaseth him, will take this life away.  
Sith he works all in all, and rules as seems him best:  
Let's learn that earth we are, and earth to claim her own is priest.  
The perfect proof whereof, apparently is seen:  
By this good Earl, whose lusty years, did flourish fair & green.  
But in a moment changed, and withered like the hay:  
Bereft of life and honour great, and coutched close in clay.  
Yet though he senseless lie, South hamtons Earl by name:  
Yet death in him lies dead no doubt, by means of noble fame.  
For whilst on earth he lived, to virtue he was bend:  
And after wisdoms lore to hunt, he gave his frank consent.  
In justice was his joy, and justly he did deal:  
As they can tell that for his aid, had cause for to appeal.  
The widow poor oppressed, he carefully did shield:  
And to the Orphan in his right, did daily comfort yield.  
The needy poor he fed, with Mutton, Bread and beef:  
His hand was never slack to give, the comfortless relief.  
The naked back to cloth, he ever ready was:  
No needy poor without reward, from this Earls gates could pass.  
His House keeping right good, there plenty bore the sway:  
No honest man forbidden was, within his house to stay.  
His faith brought forth sweet fruit, the Lord God to delight:  
And made him as a servant good, accepted in his sight.  
Unto his tenants poor, this Earl was ever kind:  
To work their weal, he carefully did always yield his mind.  
Enhancing of his rents, did he enlarge his store:  
He always had a care to help, and aid his Farmer's poor.  
His servants weal to work, no time he did forbear:  
To do them good that well deserved, his zeal did still appear,  
On God his heart was set, in Christ his hope, did rest:  
And of the mighty Lord of hosts, this noble Earl was blest.  
To Prince he was most just, to country always true:  
The fruits of love and loyalty, in him all states might view.  
In wedlock he observed, the vow that he had made:  
In breach of troth through lewd lust, he ne would seem to wade  
Thrice happy thou, of God and man beloved:  
That ever soughtst to make a peace, where discord strife had moved.  
Though thou from us begun and taken hence by death:  
Among the sons of mortal men, thy praise shall live on earth.  
For as thy life was just, so godly was thy end:  
Not on this world, but on sweet Christ, thou always didst depend  
And as in health his name, thou reverently didst praise:  
So in his fear in sickness thou, didst spend thy lotted days,  
This world thou heldst as vain, thy life thou thoughtest no loss:  
In hope of Heaven & heavenly bliss, thou déemst all things but dross.  
This hovering still in hope, to heaven thou tookst thy flight,  
where with thy Christ the jueller, of joy thy heart is pight.  
And he in extreme pain, when anguish did abound:  
To give thee comfort from above, was ever ready found.  
Amidst his mercy he, though justice wrought thy smart:  
Even like a loving saviour, did always take thy part.  
When Satan, sin, and death, about thee round were set:  
To pray for thee most earnestly, he never did forget.  
And like a Soldier just, by faith thou foughtst the Field:  
And armest thyself 'gainst all thy foes, to whom thou wouldst not yield  
But so didst keep the fort, that all thy foes did fly:  
And like a lamb in jesus Christ, preparedst thyself to die.  
Of Court thou takest thy leave, thy Prince thou bidst far well,  
for whose estate thou praydst to God, her enemies to quell.  
The Noble Peers each one, with heart thou bidst adieu:  
And praiedst that they to glad her heart, may loyalty ensue.  
Of all thy loving friends, thou takest a final leave:  
And unto God most constantly, for comfort thou dost cleave,  
Thy noble children thou, right lovingly dost bless:  
To Servants all thou givest adieu, they may thee not possess.  
From them thou dost prepare, thy passage strait to make:  
And unto Christ with cheerful voice, thy soul thou dost betake  
Who with outstretched arms, receives it to his grace:  
And with his saints, in glory great, appoints the happy place.  
Thy friends thy loss lament, thy Children wail and weep,  
To see their Father and their friend, in Clay enclosed deep.  
Thy servants stream forth tears, they wring their woeful hands:  
to see that all to soon of life, death hath dissolved the bands,  
His Tenants all do mourn, their smoking sobs abound,  
And to the skies the needy poor, their piteous plaints resound.  
Their foster friend from them, by death they say is hent:  
whose want in Court & town each where, both old & young lament.  
But tears are spent in vain, though they suppose him dead:  
He lives in Heaven where jesus Christ, with glory crowns his head.  
And thus right noble Earl, thy last adieu receive:  
To thine avail behind thee thou, good name & fame dost leave.  
Which so shall conquer death, that death in thee shall die:  
and more the Sons of mortal men, to heave thy praise to sky.   
Omnis caro fenum.  (qd) john Philip.