As bush or ensigne of her builder's shame :

Which though he rearde with his ambitious handes, I dare not call him Founder of the same.

How can he be of Christ-church Founder deemde,

That of Christ's church no member is esteemde?

And yet, as though to recompence the fall
And want of walles that never were erect;
See how the greatest Architect of all

Rebuildes the same, and in a deare respect
Hath plac't a reverend steward, that doth call
The painfull builders and their worke direct:
By whom true labors have their due regard,
And well-deserving letters findes reward.

And so the ruines, that our house before

So deeply blemisht with defect of stones, Now farre more glorious, farre triumphant more Is made, by sweete supply of learned ones, That daily takes increase by daily store,

And carefull noursing of her toward sonnes: So flourish still, and still encrease thy fame, And make thy selfe by deede thy selfe by name.

Among the series of this learned traine,

O Storer! live, and grace them with thy witte; Redeeme thy name, nor enviously containe

Thy thoughts, that with applause thou maist committe Unto the presse :-so, thine admired vaine

Shall keepe thee from thy grave and darksome pitte; When (as thy Wolsey) volumes thou shalt frame, That shall (thou dead) immortalize thy name.

May, therefore, this be propagated well,
Then blesse posterity, and sow the seede:
And use thy sweeter Muse, that then shall smell
Full like a rose, in midst of many a weede;

And sound abroad thy praises, as a bell

Unto those posterne ages, that shall neede Another Storer, in their wanting times,

To tell the worth of these thy piercing rimes.

JOHANNES SPRINT,

Edis Christi.

THE

LIFE AND DEATH

OF

THOMAS WOLSEY, CARDINALL.

WOLSEIUS ASPIRANS.

BETWEENE two Muses, in the deepe of night,
There sate a reverend Father, full of woe:
They gaz'd on him, and from that dismall sight
A kind remorse was willing them to go;

But cruell fortune would not have it so:

Fortune, that erst his pride had overthrowne,

Would have her power by his misfortune knowne.

B

Where fruitfull Thames salutes the learned shoare,

Was this grave Prelate and the Muses placed; And by those waves he builded had before

A royall house, with learned Muses graced, But by his death unperfect and defaced:— "O blessed walls, and broken towers, (quoth he) That never rose to fall againe with me!

"To thee, first sister of the learned nine,
Historian's goddesse, patronesse of fame,
Entombing worthies in a living shrine,
Celestiall Clio! Clio, peerelesse dame,
My storie's truth and triumph I will frame;
My storie's simple truth, if ought remaine,
Enrich my legend with thy sacred veine.

"The sad discourse of my untimely fall,

O tragique Muse, shall pierce thy sullen eares, Melpomene! though nothing can apall

Thy heart, obdurate in contempt of feares;

My, my laments shall make thee write in teares,

If, 'mong thy scrolles of antique majestie

Thou deigne to place a Prelate's tragedie.

"Perchance, the tenor of thy mourning verse

May leade some pilgrim to my toomblesse grave, Where neither marble monument nor hearse

The passenger's attentive view may crave; Which honors now the meanest persons have:

But well is me, where e're my ashes lie,

If one teare drop from some religious eie.

"Yet when, by meanes of prince's gracious doome, I rul'de the church where aged Wainflet lay, Zealous I was unto my founder's toombe,

My thankfull love did faithfull tribute pay
To him now dead, whose living was my stay ;

His ancient reliques were as deere to me
As princes lookes, or parents love might be.

"Thrice sweete remembrance of that holy man, Reverend erector of those stately tow'res, That worthy college where my youth beganne

In humane artes to spend the watchfull houres, That fruitful noursery, where heav'nly show'res To me, poore country-plant, such grace did yeelde, As soon I prooved the fairest of the field.