Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.
An EpytapheCXXI. W. Elderton
T
The greatest gift that ever was with us beneth the sonne;
Which makes such weepinge eyes in Sallesbury, they saye,
As all the ronning streames thereof can neuer washe awaye.
Alas! is Juell dead, the folder of the flocke?
If death haue caught the diall up, then who shall keepe the clocke?
O God, what griefe is this thye charie church should want
A bishoppe of so good a grace, when good men be so skant!
We feare the plague, they saye; but such a plague as this
Sithens I was borne I neuer knew, nor neuer shall, I wis.
Yet are there some behinde, I trust, will learne to knowe,
How Juell to his dieing daye his talent did bestow;
So busie at his booke to bring the truth to light,
As they that lyke the redie way may looke and finde it right.
His house and housholde was so kept for his degree,
As Paull in his epistles wrightes a bishoppe’s house should bee:
His diocese, I believe, hee kept in so good awe,
As virtue is content to sweare they lived within her lawe.
His hands and hart were free, the needie could not lacke.
Such peace and concord planted hee, as nothing went to wracke;
And charie went to churche himselfe by breake of daye,
That his example might procure the rest to go that waye:
And gaue unto his men their dueties when he died,
With large and lordlie recompence; this cannot bee denied.
Alas! with piteous mone all Christians now maye weepe,
That we haue such a shephard gone: God help the selie sheepe!
Meethinkes I see in heauen triumphant Truth appeare,
And Faythfulness, which speake aloude, Let Juel now come neare.
Th’ appostelles all do prease, meethinkes, to see his face,
And all the angells go about to bring him to his place:
Then Christ himselfe, meethinkes, I see begins to smile,
And saith, Beholde my chosen frende I looke for all this while:
And Abraham rends his clothes and bouels out his brest,
And sayth to Juel, Jumpe in here, and take thye quiet rest.