A feast full of sad cheere vvhere griefes are all on heape: where sollace is full deere, and sorrowes are good cheape.

A Feast full of sad cheere , Where griefes are all on heape : Where sollace is full deere , And sorrowes are good cheape .

At London , Printed for William Holme , and are to be sold at his shoppe , neere the great North doore of Paules . 1592.

To the Right Worshipfull , my most worthy affectionate friend , Maister Iohn Stannop , one of the Queenes Maiesties Priuie Chamber , & Post-maister of England . Thomas Church-yard wisheth much hap , great health , with great prosperity , and increase of desired credite .

I AM BOLD RIGHT WORshipfull , on the generall report of good people , and great commendation that the worthiest sort giues you ( besides mine own affection ) to present a fewe sorrowfull verses vnto your protection and iudgement . And the rather moued to write of some sad inuention , because I neuer knewe you delight in light or wanton discourses . Many times I haue beheld the eeuen carriage of your behauiour and good inclination , towards vertuous exercises & studies , that many wayes produced as much benefite to those you fauour , as procured profit and commoditie to your selfe : a naturall disposition of a good minde , necessary to bee about Princes , and a blessednes that in these dayes is not common among men . And for feare I should runne too far in those causes by manifest speeches ( which is not commonly allowed ) I desire no more in you , but a continuance of goodnes and those vertues rehearsed , and so fall I to my purposed matter . The troth is good Sir , in the long pilgrimage of mine , I purchased many good friendes ( requisite for my infortunat life ) which friends did no soner encrease , but in a manner as quickly went away , either by death or some vnwelcome accident : and loozing dayly one or an other that stood mee in great steede , I bethought me ouer-often on my great losse , so shaping a kinde of lamentation in that behalfe to expresse the want of such friendes , I presumed to offer you this simple Pamphlet , as a testimony to be thankfull to those that did me pleasure , ( the Bishop of Oxford one of the chiefest , ) and to keepe their fauour I honour and loue , who now are aliue .

This trifle in verse , is named , A Feast of sad cheere , because the best banquets I can make to my friendes , is but bare Tragedies , Epitaphes , or such bitter fruite as sewe doe feede on , and many takes no taste in , the sowrnes of my delicates so little delights a multitude . And indeed Syr now I am left voyd of al prouision , and am compelled to present such things as comes next to my hande , because a Booke called my Challenge , ( dedicated to the honorable , Maister Secretarie Wolley ; ) hath caried away most , or all together of my other conceits : yet my hope is , this little recreation that I offer you , shall be as well accepted , as though I could haue feasted you with a finer Banquet ; for you knowing mine abilitie in furniture and knowledge , I trust you will take well in worth what of good will I am able to bring .

Thus wishing you much harts ease , worldly hap , and heauenlie felicitie , I take my leaue , desiring you with fauour to reade that which followeth .

The Epitaphe of the Right honorable the Earle of Worster that last died , Knight of the most honorable order of the Garter . NO day so cleere , but brings at length darke night , Faire flowers doe fade , as fast as they doe groe : No torch nor lampe , but burnes away their light , Sunne shines awhile , then vnder clowde doth goe ; The lyfe of man , is heere compared so . It lasts a space , till borrowed breath be paid : And then cold corse , in Tombe or graue is laid . No honor , wealth , nor force , nor wisedomes lore , Nor famous praise Prolongs our daies , When Death drawes neere , and man may liue no more . The greatest Kings , are onely borne to die , Like poorest men , their passage hence they take : And noble Earles , that sits in honor hie , And all estates , of life an end must make ; Yet waile I will , for worthy Worsters sake , His loyall loue , to Prince and Country such : As in our age , can not be praisd too much . In Wales well likt , in England honord still For lordly minde , And hart most kinde To all his friendes : which wan the worlds good will . Brought vp in Court , among the Princely sort , Of manner milde , as his estate might forde : Held stately house , with traine and princely port , Right spare of speech , yet wise and waer in word ; Most glad of guestes , and pleasant at his boord . Full franck and free , where things were nobly spent ; To each degree , of nature throw-well bent . As though a spring in Ragland Castle were , To pleasure those That bounty knowes , And had desire to draw sweet water there . This Earle had ioy , to haue his stable fild , With faire great Horse , that were for seruice fit : And was himselfe , in ryding as well skild , As any man , that myght in saddle sit ; Could vse the Horse , with euery kinde of bit . On horse and hound , had much desire to looke : In building to , a great delight he tooke . In all good gifts , and artes had sure some sight , Like noble man , That now and than Could passe off time , with matters graue or light . And whan best proofe , of him good people had , A sicknes came , and tooke him hence in hast : The newes whereof , makes friends & neighbors sad , Who hopes his soule , the heauens haue imbrast ; Loe Lordings all , how heere our time we waste . Our daies are short , our race is quickly run : We slip away , like shadow in the Sun . To day on foote , to morrow downe in graue , From world we goe Both hie and loe , All Adams seede no better surety haue . FINIS .

THE EPITAPH OF the Right honorable Sir Iames Acrofft , late Controller of the Queenes Maiesties Housholde . IF world were waxt vnkind , and would forget what heere is done : And cleane weare out of mind , the doubtful race that men do run , True writers should reuiue , time past for feare old age would rust , And some young heads aliue , would burie vertue in the dust . Where are our famous Kings , the shepheards of our English heard , That conquerd many things , and made our enemies all affeard . Our world remembers none , with princely Tombes , or blast of praise , They are no sooner gone , but their renowne in world decayes . Their Counsellers likewise , whose wisedome held vp tottring state , Once dead we doe despise , we beare in breast such hart borne hate . Thus world is worse then nought , his care and iudgement is so small , It neuer takes no thought , for nothing heere that may befall . But God that all doth see , and giues man grace and gift of pen , Of late hath moued mee , with verse to honour worthy men . Than come Syr Iames Acrofft , a Knight who serud 4 princes great , Who Fortune fauourd oft , and who sate long in Senate seate . ( Who was a while vizroy , and then of Wales vizpresdent to , Did many roomes enioy , which none aliue may easily doe . ) Come take the Crowne Ciuicque , that Caesar gaue for true renowne , Not one may weare the like , in warlike fielde or walled Towne . But those that beares in brest , to Country such great loue and zeale , As still they doe their best , to serue both Prince & Common-weale . Let Fraunce & Scotland both , and Ireland shew in louing sort , His duety and his troth , bid all those Realmes yeeld true report . And tell me who can say , now borne in this our Brittish soyle , He passed cleere this day , through such great roomes without some foyle . And last in Court of all , Sir Iames Acroffts Controller was , That credite i 〈…〉 ot small , that place through many perrils passe . Yet that and 〈◊〉 he rest , of honors he possessed heere , Fild neyther purse nor chest , for he bought all those honors deere . With losse of time and wealth , and dreadfull dangers day and night , To hazard life and health , and all he had for Countryes right . Yea in his brauest boast , when he in greatest fauour stood , And profits deserud most , the Princes died should doe him good . Saue one , a Queene most rare , ( to whom great God great grace dooth send ) Tooke of his case som care , & thought to help him in the end . But ere the comfort came , his blaze and candle cleane went out . And meeke & milde as lambe , ( that doth no death nor danger doubt ) He tooke his last farewell : and so lost life , lands , goods and all , To her he serued well , so long as he was at her call . Loe what mishaps men haue , to rise , and rule , and gouerne mych : Yet going to their graue , the world may see they die not rych . A signe they had no hord , but had their hope in Prince and troth : By seruice and by sword , to purchase fame and treasure both . Now lowe in earth he lies , ( that hie did sit and beare great sway : ) Tyll he and wee shall rise , and heare our doome at Iudgement day . FINIS .

Sir William Winter , Knight , his Epitaphe . WHat mourning verse or careful cries , shal serue where sadnes floes : Where soking sighes and blobred eyes , a world of sorrowe shoes . Be still and mute , ô house of ioy , giue groning griefe some place : Turne sollace sweet to sowre annoy , that soone is scene in face . Let gladsome mirth goe where it please , make woe a welcome guest : Bid each delight and wished ease , dislodge from troubled brest . Let sports and pleasures silent be , and name no earthly blis : For heauy harts doe best agree , where death and dollor is . So if you shape your selues to heare , what did by death befall : This verse may chaunce to change your cheare , & make you mourne withall . A knight here lies but late aliue , who purchast pereles praise : Who nobly long for fame did striue , by seruise sundry waise . On sea and land a happy man , that bore a Lyons hart : Who honor wealth & worship wan , throw sword and due desart . His skill and councell gaue great grace , where martial people were : And where he shewd his manly face , he put his foes in feare . A victor that brought conquest home , from many a fight and field : A Champion that in hard attempts , had rather die then yield . A chieftain oft that might commaund , both ships & men good store : A gallant guide that throw would goe , and leade them all before . His presence promisd good successe of all he tooke in hand : A cheerefull comfort in distresse , a lode-star of our Lande . A worthy that had great regard ▪ of charge and liues of men : A wight in world right well preferd , by sword but not by pen . Most graue of words and stout of mind , ful constant , firme and fast : Not turnd like weltring waues with wind , nor sturd by storme or blast . A targe of proofe to publique state , of iudgement deepe and great : That could of Countries weale debate , like Sage in Senate seate . A sparke of Mars by speech & lookes , wherein the world might spy : A warlike mind a worthy head , a hart and courage hye . His seruice last on sea declard , what kinde of man he was : Whose worth is of as great regard , as gold is from the glasse . What want of him haue we the while , to leese this Iewell now : Whose valour showne amid this Ile , lyke pearle in princely brow . Come Souldiours then with drum and fife , and sound his deere adue : Lament the losse of Winters life , in black sad mourning hue . Come Captaines all both rich and poore , with shot & Armor bright And traile your Collours on the flowre , in honor of this Knight . Come wofull babes , come sun and ayre , cast off your garments gay : And clap on robes of deepe dispaire , to waile this dismall day . Cold death hath doone vs all this wrong , by griefe that body bred : For Winter might haue liued long , and had not now beene dead : If Death gaue not consent thereto , that lyes like priuie watch : But loe , what Cannon could not doe , Death made thereof dispatch . Yet at the brunt of all this broyle , when conscience cast account : How soone the life should leaue this soile , and where the soule should mount . He held vp hands with staied thought , to highest clowdes aboue : And so set all the world at nought , and died as meeke as Doue . We hope the heauens haue embrast , the soule we could not keepe : And that by grace is Winter plast , in Abrams brest to sleepe . FINIS .

The good Maister William Holstocks Epitaph , Controller of the Queenes Maiesties Nauie . MVse not to see this man in Tombe , all flesh to graue must goe , Death calls for life ( ere day of doome ) to pay the debt we owe . 〈◊〉 went from world when worlds good wil , embrast him eu'ry where , For whom his friends sits wayling still , and sheds full many a teare . What taketh breath and life must die , the best and worst takes leaue , What comes from earth in earth must lie , els we our selues deceaue . Then worldlings waile the dead no more , he liues & dwels in skye , For Holstocke did but goe before , to learne vs all to die . In youth this forward Martiall man , was still in seruice great , Where he much fame and credite wan , through many a warlike feate . In age his care of Country such , as he lou'd nothing more , Whereon he could not talke too much , if cause fel out therefore . Hys courage alwaies him prefard , ( whiles he in world did liue , To worthy place of great regard , which Prince did freely giue , As he increast to wished wealth , or worship through desart , He shewd in sicknes and in health , a cheerefull librall hart . Held house and plentious table still , full long and many a yeere , Did welcome guests with great good wil , that came to tast his cheere . Made much of all good vertuous men , and what so ere befell , Was glad and pleasant now and then , with those he liked well . Full wise in deede and waer of word , and carefull of his charge , And alwaies free and francke at boord , where his expence was large . Belou'd and praisd of poore and rich , and prayd for sundry waies , Good Holstocke shall be missed much , in these hard needy daies . A conscience cleere , a fayth most fearme , a currant stampe of truth , Kept touch and promise , time and tearme , fearde God in age & youth . A mighty minde in stature meane , that ventred life full oft , On sea or land among the best , that looked most aloft . Good writers haue in seueral bookes , set forth his value throw , That those which on the seruice lookes , should honor Holstocke now . As lyfe got laude , so he at death , to friends and children said , O babes before I yeeld vp breath , and Pilgrims part be plaid , I blesse you all , and giue my goods among you as I may , Then in the bed shrunke downe his head , and went like blaze away . The good he did in his accounts , where soule now pleading is , He feeles , where heauenly ioy surmounts , all kind of earthly blis . FINIS .

The Epitaphe of Doctor Vnderhill latelie B. of Oxforde . WHat helpeth hap or due deserts to bee in fauour here , When life is mixt with such orethwarts , we buy our fortunes dere . Gay gold or pearle brought home from farre , at end consumes away , Great fame attainde by peace or warre , doth quickly heere decay . The loue of friends and fauour won , of wise and worthy wights , Steales hence like shadow of the sun , or stars in moonshine nights . Sate I not safely Vnderhill , ( in calmie vale below , ) From bitter biasts and tempests still , how ere the winde did blow . What suddaine storme then troubles me , that had so sure a seate , Hath winters wast blown down my tree , that feard no summers heat . O tell harde Destnies why you did , enuy my happy state ? Infury now , O God forbid I should cry out on fate . Or braule & chide with churlish Death , for when we hence must goe , What beareth life or draweth breath , are horve to die I knoe . My friend is gone , the passing bell hath rung his rusull end , The graue God wote we see full well , doth for his corse attende . Now Vnderhill lyes vnder ground , knit vp in sheete full short , Whose wit and learning did abound , as Oxford makes report . He Bishop was of that faire seate , where floods of wisdome floes , To whose sweet springs and Fountaine great , a world of people goes . O would to God he had beene there , when he his time did waste , And caught conceit some other where , that halde him hence in haste . His lyfe was such that none could staine , with any blot or crime , Vnmatcht alone he did remaine , and so spent all his time . In chaste content and single wise , a good report to gaine , As one that did this world despise , and held all pleasure vaine . Held house and table in such rate , as though his rent had bin , As great as any hie estate , whose wealth comes flowing in . Kept men that had good gifts of grace , lou'd those that worthy were , To schollers shewd a cheerfull face , relieu'd them eu'ry where . His bounty and large librall minde , did daily so exceede , That he was glad some cause to finde , to helpe all those that neede . His words were of so great a waight , to ballance eu'rie case , That who so heard his iudgement straight , would giue his wisedome place . His sensure made the sentence cleere , & so shut vp the dout , That sure a ioy it was to heare , him canuase questions out . His loue and zeale to Prince and state , in Pulpit was exprest , And what thereof he did debate , surmounted all the rest . His hauiour was so sweet and meeke , that men might easely know , No vertue was in him to seeke , he made so full a showe . For friendship , faith , and dealings iust , he past the greater sort , An vpright man of speciall trust , with passing comely port . A thunder-bolt to forraine foes , a skurge to each new Sect , And one the Lord aboue had chose , to be his owne elect . Full long before his leaue he tooke , and life made his last end , Vnto the heauens did he looke , and praied with a frend . And when the pangs of death arose , as sicknes did increase , He held vp hands and eyes did close , and went away in peace . O England hadst thou many such , to be thy Iewels now , Thou could'st not praise those men too much , if thou wilt way them throw . Not I alone lament the losse , for many more there be , A liue to beare this heauy crosse , of sorrow now with me . FINIS .

The quick I fawne not on , the dead may none dispise , Speake well of those are gone , is likt among the wise . The quick must die or droope , as fairest flowre in field , Vnto the strongest troope , the weakest force doth yield . So to the vertuous sort , that leaues good name behinde , I yeeld but true report , to call the dead to minde .

The vnhappy mans deere adewe , that findes nothing good cheape but sorrowe . IF Scipio said , hys Countrey was ingrate , And would not haue , his bones be buried there : If Tullie found , a most vnthankfull state , Whose foule rebukes , no manly minde might beare ; Then I may walke , like Pilgrim eu'ry where . As one compeld , to shunne from natiue soyle : Where labour long , reapt nought but losse and toyle . Youth first be guilde , in Court with hope forlorne , Than middle age , all wearied with sharp war : And nowe olde eld , to liue in lack and scorne , Whose wounded limbs , showes many a wofull skar ; And sundry waies , consum'd with trauaile far . These open plagues , and inward griefes of mind : Cryes out and saith , my Country is vnkinde . I seru'd in field , foure Princes of greate fame , Borne vnder those , an humble subiect true : Three other Kings , of great renowne and name , In faithfull sort , I seru'd for wages due ; But heere liege Lords , I doe appeale from you , That neuer did , aduaunce my loyall hart , For treble toile , for paines , nor iust desart . Ten thousand haue found Fortunes fauour good , Since I began to tread the steps of time : And thousands rose , that in meane places stoode , And to the top of Fortunes wheele did clime ; Since I possest one dram of worldly slime . Yea , eu'ry Waspe , and hatefull Homble-bee , Sucks vp the sap , of my poore Cyper tree . Like Tantalus I feede , and faint for foode , No better fare at Fortunes hands I finde : Still neere good hap , yet farre from quiet moode , Tost vp and downe , like fether in the winde ; Neuer thought on , but euer out of minde , As world should thrust a man from credite quite , So seemes to die , and yet must liue in spite . If any one that stands at Well-head still , Had freely fild my empty bucket bare : Or of himselfe , had show'd me such good will , To leaue some drops of water to my share ; That I had beene refresht as others are , My thirstye throate or skalded hart had felt , Some sucker sweet that now with heate doth swelt . Or if good mindes of men had broke the yee , That keepes by cold the fountaine frozen hard : Or turnd the cock , the conduit or the vice , That vnder locke is long shut vp and bard ; Or to the Prince my simple sute prefard . I silly man had sure possest some place , That should make glad my selfe and all my race . No Butter cleaues nor sticks vpon my bread , No Honny-combes will breede in my bare hyue : My gold but glasse , my siluer worse then lead , My luck as bad as any man alyue ; My feeble chaunce , wants force with fate to striue . That dest'ny strange that brings no ioyfull day , That life but death , that findes no staffe of stay . What course or trade that honest men may hold , But hath beene sought and say'd with sweat of brow : What arte or drift can any head vnfold , But hath with wit been tryde and searched throw ; What can be namde a grace or vertue now , But in some sort it hath beene put in proofe , For publique state , or priuate mans behoofe . All these good parts , rare gifts and graces great , Are spurnd at heere , where duety seemes disdaind : But necke in yoke once free from fortunes threat , When bondage hath abroade sweet freedome gaind ; May laugh to scorne at home good credite staind . Than those rebukes , that bites before my face , Behind my backe , shall showe their own disgrace . Heere lose I time that for good turnes doth gape , No tarrying where deserts are troden downe : Nor dwelling with wild Wolues in humane shape , That still deuours men of their true renowne ; T weare better liue with Corridon the Clowne , Then come to Court , where tauntes & gyrds abounde , And gaine growes small , and no great hap is found . For fifty yeeres and fiue I plide it well , And burthens bore as backe and bones would breake : Still fedde with shales , yet sometimes crackt the shell , And kyrnell found to comfort humour weake . But when lame age hath greatest cause to speake , They put me off from post to piller still , As though they whypt a horse about a Myll . O wilie world , thou art become too fine , O cunning Court , thou shufflest Cardes too fast : O hungry age , when Souldiours starue and pine , O cruell dayes , thy date too loong doth last ; O faire sweet words , you proue a bittter blast . O haplesse hope , thou breedst but deepe dispaire , Whose heauy thoughts breathes out but fuming ayre . O seede ill sowne , that bringes no haruest home , O time ill spent , that gets no thanks nor gaine : O blasted tree , whose boughes will neuer blome , O sencelesse sute that breakes both sleepe and braine ; O curelesse griefe , ô carefull endlesse paine . O kanckred wound , ô gnawing corsie vile , That eates vp hart , and driues me in exile . Now must I leaue the Land I like so well , And creepe awaie to forraine Countrey strange , Now must stiffe ioynts among strange people dwell , Now for hard beds I shall soft lodging change ; Now from sweet peace , in war shall body range . Nowe shot and sword , and heauy coate of steele , In most weake plite , my wearie bones shall feele . And now good Lord , the Prince I honor most , In hart , in soule , in feare and conscience cleere : To whom next God , I would bequeath my ghost , And all good gifts that God hath sent me heere , For her I hold ne life nor blood too deere . But from her face , of force now must I goe , And to what place , the Lord himselfe doth knoe . To begge at home , or borrow is too bad , To steale or starue , or not esteemd is worse : To liue by losse , or looke like empty swad , Would make world think I thirst for thred-bare purse , To want and waile , to ban , to cry and curse , Were great offence , great folly , sin and shame , For one foule fault , a man may lose good name . Then freendes and foes farewell , God mend you all , The one bewitcht me daily with faire words : The other sought , with quarrell or lewde brall , To conquer him , that neuer feard your swords . To seeke sweete meate vpon your bitter bordes , Is seruage such , as few free mindes would wish , Grosse fare exceedes so deere a dainey dish . So plainely passe , in Pilgrims habite poore , Eate what thou find'st , in Cottage thacht with straw , Leaue those that lacke , for almes at Princes doore , Where thou hast beene , a subiect vnder Law . But tell not how , in yoke thy youth did draw , Like Oxe that goade pricks forward to his paine , To plowe the ground for wealthy Farmers gaine . Much like the Bee , that flyes to eu'ry flowre , To bring home sap , to make sweet honney still : And when he hath doone all lyes in his powre , To show the loue or fruite of his good will . In steed of thanks , when he doth meane no ill . Then is he burnt , or flung in flaming fire , Because new Bees contents fine worlds desire . Yea , as the Horse , that many yeeres and daies , Hath labred long , and serud his Maisters neede : And borne him well , through many deep foule waies , And on good Corne and hay was wont to feede . Yet waxen old , and cannot doe the deede , He is cast off , and faine to play the part Of Hackney Iade , or els must draw the Cart. A cold reward , for labour toyle and sweate , As small regard is made of many men : Why then his wit and wisedome is as weake As Waltams-calfe , that plaies the fondling then , To weare out life , and serue with sword and pen . Where Horses hap , is founde in worse degree , Then Oxe in yoke , or in the hiue the Bee . I waste but wordes , to waile or tell my wrong , Their eares are stopt that should redresse the same : Vnto the dead I sing a dolefull song , I seeke for fire , where water quencheth flame ; I swim on seas , yet sinck in open shame . I thirst and faint for drinke at fountaines head , I starue for foode , where thousands eate their bread . Well , welcome want , I feele thee not alone , My fellowes dwels in stately Court perhaps , That doth for want of flesh gnaw neere the bone , Who seldome sucks sweet milke from Fortunes paps , Yet plyes the Court , with curtsies , knees , & caps . A thraldome fit , for such as loues faire shoe , But hath no wit , nor knowes not where to goe . The Lord be blest , some beare a better braine , And soone can show , the blot that seruage brings : Haue wit enough to keepe them out of raine , And knowes full wel , where shoe or saddle wrings ; In silence so , I knit vp all these things . Farewell fine Court , my plainnes is vnfit , Among the flock of gallant guests to sit . Poore , plaine and true , and sure of right good race , Takes leaue of you , and therof makes no vauntes : Yet eu'ry where , will show plaine true mans face , For that in world , his deedes and dest'nies graunts . No force though Court yeelds him but open taunts . God and good Prince , in time can way that well , And make sad man , at length in quiet dwell . FINIS .

A short Prayer . From fiue extreames God me presarue , Which common plagues all harts doe hate : To beg , to borrow , steale , or starue , Or not esteemd in publique state .