AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THAT WORTHY HOUSEKEEPER, WILLIAM SMITH, Of Crissing-Temple in the County of Essex, Esquire, who died the eleventh day of February, 1630. aged 74. years.   depiction of a funeral procession 
London Printed by G. P. 1631.   

An Elegy upon the death of that worthy housekeeper William Smith of Crissing-Temple in the County of Essex Esquire, who died the 11. day of February 1630. aged 74. years.  

LEt low deserts be raised by flattering verse,  
Thy worth abundantly adorns thy Hearse,  
And brings thee with high honour from the womb,  
To swim in poor men's tears into thy Tomb;  
To them unkind, only in this, to dye,  
And leave them in their deepest misery.   

Oh miserable Poor! whose foul offence,  
And great ingratitude; heavens influence  
Stopped first, and barren made the earth in seed,  
Which strengthen should thine heart with daily bread:  
Now with thy sins t'increase thy penalty,  
God takes thy never failing Granary:  
Not that I blame the poor, the rich to spare,  
We all must guilty plead at Heavens high bar;  
God lets us live to see our sins just doom,  
And takes away the just from th'ill to come.  
If to do good, and to abstain from ill,  
Be as in heaven, on earth to do Gods will,  
And the whole law fulfilled, is God above,  
And next thy neighbour, as thyself, to love,  
All this did he, for whom I bleed these tears,  
Whose virtues fare out numbered his years;  
And (witness men and Angels) in good deeds,  
Not hours, but minutes of his life, exceeds.   

That of the dead's a blessed commendation,  
Which to the living serves for imitation;  
Yet future times may think, if they this see,  
I writ not what he was, but aught to be,  
A fair Idea for applause and glory,  
And not a true essential living story.   

Well of a Temple had his house the name,  
For like a Temple he did use the same,  
The morning and the evening sacrifice,  
Never omitted in the comeliest wise,  
And that which in these days is wondrous rare,  
The Governors two living Temples were,  
And laboured to have all, that on them waited,  
As they themselves were truly consecrated.  
As older, more Religious he grew,  
Making a conscience ay to pay his due  
To Gods own Tribe, whom he so honoured,  
As watchmen over us set in God's stead;  
Like good old Abraham, most joyful, when  
He Angels entertained in shapes of men.   

Thus was he to his God: his conversation  
With men, was no less worthy observation,  
Even from the Throne to him that low doth grind  
At mill, he loyal, faithful was, and kind:  
In his relation to his Sovereign,  
Although his outward presence was but plain,  
His actions were most noble, just and wise,  
Conducing to the highest enterprise,  
Yet to state-secrets he would not intrude,  
Nor foment factions of the multitude;  
The question whether, hard was to debate,  
He honoured more his King, or loved the state.   

He always did in highest favour stand  
With greatest Lords, and Rulers of the Land,  
With whom he was familiar as their host,  
And where he once gained favour never lost.   

To friends, and neighbours evermore most dear,  
Where he so equally himself did bear,  
All strife and quarrels he in peace did end.   

The orphans father, and the widow's friend,  
With whom they trust their states in confidence  
Of good improvement by his diligence.   

To his inferiors always so was he,  
As our Superiors we would wish to be:  
Friendly to all and loving: To the poor  
So bountiful, as if God sent him store  
And plenty, it amongst them to dispense,  
And to relieve their pressing indigence.   

Thus he abroad: How in his family?  
Oh now my numbers turn all Elegy!  
And first his dearest Turtles loss bemoan,  
Who after fifty years is left alone,  
Ever to her most gentle, loving, wise,  
And never as the weaker, did despise;  
But as both were one body, mind and heart,  
Both lived, and loved, and never bed did part;  
So kindly drawing in this loving yoke,  
One would have wished it never might have broke,  
Or that we had some fruit of such a pair,  
But's lot to choose was, not beget his heir:  
Whom under him like to himself he bred;  
But I the living praise not, but the dead:  
Yet this fair heritage, as oft it fares  
With other heirs, cannot dry up his tears.  
I boldly say they fare preferred his health,  
Before th'inheriting of all his wealth.   

You of his own blood and affinity,  
Your burden bear in this sad melody:  
Was he not as a father to you all?  
On whom, unasked, he let large blessings fall.   

And you his servants! ah that once you were,  
And are not still, had he not greater care  
Of your preferment, than your service due?  
And though he many kept, yet had few new:  
Before your outward mourning doth begin,  
I see your hearts for sorrow bleed within,  
All act our parts in this sad Elegy,  
The Poor's the Chorus of the Tragedy.   

As for myself, I need no Father's urn,  
Nor dead sons bones to move my muse to mourn,  
Heart's grief will most abundantly indite,  
If I my sorrows for my losses write.  
Oh! I have lost a sweet familiar,  
A friend, a father, and a Counsellor,  
Whose Actions all, like precepts of the wise,  
Directed me true virtue's exercise.   

One above all; I never heard he uttered  
Lest ill of them, that falsely 'gainst him muttered,  
Although (as 'twas with Christ) foulem-outhed detraction  
Basely traduced the best of all his action;  
Heavens school him taught to love his enemies,  
And retribute rewards for injuries:  
Graces are like high stairs, Humility  
The Basis, This sure is the Summity,  
To which none can ascend but by the rest,  
And many steps there are to make man blessed:  
Easier heavens stars, than all his Graces tell,  
Never was such a Smith in Israel.   

Like living spring whose streams are never dry,  
But more you draw, doth fresher still supply,  
Such was his inexhausted liberality,  
His mind unlimited for hospitality:  
And to leave nothing that he might fulfil,  
He left large Legacies by his last will,  
For to sustain the needy hungry poor,  
And feed them at his grave, as at his door.   

Like Tree close planted by the River's side,  
He flourished 
* Aetatis 74.  long, and fruitful did abide,  
Even to his last; his leaves all fresh and green,  
His body sound, and no decaying seen;  
All fair and wide his goodly arms dispread,  
And all that came near to him sheltered;  
Until the Lord chief owner of the ground,  
Finding him living Timber, good and sound,  
Bid cut him down to be exalted higher,  
Preserving all for Timber, none for fire:  
That as he long on earth continued,  
To be a dead material Temples head,  
He might be of heavens immaterial,  
A living Pillar never more to fall.   

Wherefore let us not be disanimated,  
As without hope, he is but hence translated,  
Whither, if we will do, as he hath done,  
We in good time with joy to him shall come.  
Mean while here his brief Character is told,  
As we in little Globes the heavens behold.    

The Epitaph.  

NOble by Birth, in Fortune's Favours Low,  
Thrift, by God's blessing, made all plenty flow  
Within my Gates, yet I my heir left more,  
Than any of mine Ancestors before.   

In Spiritual husbandry, let all men know  
This Rule: They plenty reap that plenty sow;  
And Talents are improved more by well spending,  
Than Usurers can, increase their Coin by lending.   

No Titles I affected, my desire  
Was sole by Grace and Goodness to aspire,  
To Heaven from whence I came: Time all to light  
Will bring: and give me after Death my Right.   
FINIS.