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3 And waginge sens I was your man,
bounds I feare
than simple soile doth bear.
This argues but my greate good will, ,
as farre as duetie goes :
a foile that vertue shoes,
4 Of him whose natuer from the Nurs,
hath bin so noblie bent:
and country stands content.
And sayth that heer we have to few,
or noen like him at all:
that we most noble call.
Then follows a chasm, of what length is uncertain.
5 If enuye barke at well wonne faem,
it calls mens acts to minde:
that els would waest with wind.
If world but wist, what good doth ries,
throw enuies deepe disdaine :
mans credite to distaine,
6 Who clipps renowme, is lieke a foole,
that faine would robb the Sunne: Or one that spoms and kieks at Faen,
that worthies well haue wunne.
Twear better striue to win like lawds
by blotles life in deede :
7 Of others prayse, but God be thankt,
the hatefull are so weake:
not caer what babblars speake.
The learned hath a mortall foe,
of him that knothing knoes :
that for no purpose groes.
and parfait honour is :
and rests the God of blis.
for whiells your vertues liue :
to you or yours to giue.
Finis q goodwill.
This is all in black letter, and forms two fly leaves to Neville “ de furoribus Norfolciensium Ketto duce.” In the possession of the Rev. Mr. White, of Lichfield.
THE DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK.
THE following curious old Ballad has never appeared in any collection, and seems well worthy of being preserved. It was originally printed in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
“ THE MOST RARE AND EXCELLENT HisTORY OF THE DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK, AND HER HUSBAND, RICHARD BERTIE'S CALA
To the tune of “Queen Dido.”
When God had taken, for our sin,
That prudent Prince King Edward away,
His raging malice to bewray;
Thus while the LORD on us did low'r,
Many in prison he did throw,
Whereby they might the truth forego,
111. Smithfield The word and truth so rare to find : She with her husband, nurse, and child, In
Smithfield was then with faggots fill’d,
And many places more beside;
At Worcester eke good Hooper died;
Among the rest that sought relief,
And for their faith in danger stood,
King Henry's daughter of Royal Blood;
The Dutchess of Suffolk seeing this,
Whose life likewise the Tyrant sought,
Within God's word her comfort wrought;
That for the love of God alone,
Her land and goods she left behind;
poor array their sighs beguild.
Thus thro' London they pass'd along,
Each one did take a several street; Aud all along escaping wrong,
At Billingsgate they all did meet: Like people poor, in Gravesend barge, They simply went with all their charge.
And all along from Gravesend town,
With journey short, on foot they went;
pass the seas was their intent;
And with a prosp'rous gale of wind
In Flanders they did safe arrive;
And from their hearts much woe did drive;
Thus as they travel'd still disguis'd,
Upon the highway suddenly,
Assaulting their small company;