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FRAGMENT OF A POEM
TO LORD WARWICK.
"A NUE YEARES GIFT."
TO MY LORDE OF
1 To presēt Mars wt paper skrowlls
It wear as I should giue a reede
2 But whear thear is no weapons bright that fit is for the field:
A man is foerst from barrain tree,
Yet had I Cressus wealth at will,
I skarce could tel what gift wear meet,
3 And waginge sens I was your man,
To yielde my maister other fruet,
This argues but my greate good will,
Or may be cald for chaunge of spetch,
4 Of him whose natuer from the Nurs,
That with his life both staetly courte,
And sayth that heer we haue to few,
In sondry pointes of honour suer,
Then follows a chasm, of what length is un
5 If enuye barke at well wonne faem,
And still reuieus the lamp with oyle,
If world but wist, what good doth ries,
6 Who clipps renowme, is lieke a foole,
Twear better striue to win like lawds
Than shaek the head or bend the brow,
7 Of others prayse, but God be thankt,
The learned hath a mortall foe,
of him that knothing knoes: The floure is malliest by a weede, that for no purpose groes.
8 Well: whear that noble nature dwells,
Thear vertue harbreth in the hart,
Take wel in worth my Nueyeares gift,
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,
Then bloody Bonner did begin
His raging malice to bewray; All those that did God's word profess He persecuted more or less.
Thus while the LORD on us did low'r,
Then Cranmer, Ridley, and the rest,
Were burning in the fire, that CHRIST profess'd.
Smithfield was then with faggots fill'd,
King Henry's daughter of Royal Blood;
The Dutchess of Suffolk seeing this,
Within God's word her comfort wrought;
That for the love of GoD alone,
The word and truth so rare to find: