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Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

From “An Epitaphe upon the Death of Mayster John Viron, Preacher”

CXXVIII. John Awdelie

FROM pasture unto pasture he dyd thee bryng to feede,

And never ceased to make thee from fayth to fayth proceede.

There restes no more for you hys paynes now to requite,

But so to walke as he you taught, and speake of hym the ryght.

And thou, O England, now, to ende and mone wyth theese,

Lament thou mayst also wyth us, a woorkeman thus to leese.

Thy harvest is so great, and laborers so fewe;

Yea, of those fewe some loyterers full yll themselves do shewe.

And let us hereby take a warning to us all,

That seeing harvest is so great, and woorkemen’s nomber small,

Our fruit must needes be lost, ourselves to famishe brought,

Our land layde lyke a wyldernes, and brought at length to nought.

But thou, O Lorde and God of this our harvest great,

Spare thou our woorkemen, and more send, that labour will with sweate;

That, as we mone for John environed by death,

Thou wylt us glad wyth many a Paule enspirde with heavenly breath.