The funeralles of King Edward the sixt VVherin are declared the causers and causes of his death.

¶The Funeralles of the most noble and godly Prince Kyng Edward the syxt. WHen bytter Wynter forced had the Sun Fro the horned Goat to Pisces ward to run, And lively sap, that greneth gardins soote, To flye the stocke to save her nurse, the roote, And sleety Cech that blowth by North fro East, Decayd the health and welth of man and beast, The almighty minde that rayneth thre in one, Disposing all thinges from his stable throne, Beheld the earth, and man among the rest: Movde by the crye of such as wer opprest. And when he had the maynland throughly vewed, With Mahometrie and Idol blud embrewed, Wherthrow his Law and Gospel wer defylde, His love, his awe, his worship quite exilde, He turnd his iyes from that so fowle a sight, And toward the Iles he cast his looke a right: In hope that where true knowledge did abound, He should sum lovelyer sight have quickely found. But when he sawe all vice most vile and naught Most rifely swarme, where truth had most be taught, In England chefe, which he of speciall grace Had made his wurd and chosens resting place, And had for that cause powrd on it such store Of welthy giftes as none could wishe for more, Ioynt with a King, of such a godly minde, As seldome erst he elswhere had assinde, All wo and wroth he flang away his face, And to him selfe he thus bewayld the case, To see this people should theyr sinnes forsake, I haue lookt so long, vntill mine eyes do ake. To hide their mischiefes waring more and more, I haue winkt so long till loe my bryes be sore. My throte is horce, my lippes haue lost theyr skinne Through feruent crye to fray them from theyr sinne. Might gentlenes haue movde them to relent, What have they wisht, that hath not strait be sent? Sith then they passe for neyther threats, nor love, Nor easy plages wherby I do them prove, What els remayns but to destroy them all, The yong, the old, the myghty with the small. Chryst hearing this, and moved with the teares Of vertuous folke, (for whose sake God forbeares The wicked sort although their sinnes be great) For his elect on this sort gan intreat. If Iustice due (dere father) should haue place, I knowe it booteth not to sewe for grace: But though their sins all measure far excede, Yet stay thy wrath, haue mercy on our nede. And sith through fayth a mayny of them be mine, Graunt leave this once to water this thy vine: That doen, if so their fruytes do not amend, As barrayne brambles bryng them to an end. When Chryst our sauiours merciful request Was sonke into his fathers tender brest, He neyther graunted it, nor yet denayd But fatherlike thus to his sonne he sayd: To sewe for mercy I maruayle what ye meane, For such a sort as haue reiect vs cleane. Behold the heades, what els do they deuise, Saue in our name to cloke their couetise? Thine herytage they have thee whole bereft, Except thy shurt, let see, what haue they left? Thy golde, thy plate, thy lodgyng, yea thy landes That are the poores, are in the richest handes: They waste, they spoyle, they spill vpon their pride That which was geven the nedy corse to hide: And thou lyest naked starving at their gates While they consume thy substaunce with theyr mates. As for theyr lawe wherby men should haue right Is ruled hole by money and by might. And where the riche the nedy should relive They do their best to beggry all to drive. What titles forge they falsely to their landes, Untill they wrongly wring them from their handes? How ioyne they house to house, how farme to farme? How lease to lease, the selly sort to harme? How rayse they rents, what incoms, yea what fines Exact they still though all the world repines? How suffer they theyr grayne to rot and hore To make a dearth when I geue plenty store? And where they brag they do thy word auaunce, Have they not spoyld or fliste all mayntenaunce, That therto servde? what kinde of Clergy lande Or fee, is free now from the Lay mans hande? What gentleman, what marchant, yea what swayne, But hath or may have a personage or twayne? I loth to name the vilenes of the rest, So sore my hart theyr robbry doth detest. Is this the way our Gospell to defend? No no, we see to well what they entend. But passe we this, and marke their godly lives, How do they kepe theyr promys with theyr wides? For what respect do they theyr mariage make Save riches, honour, or promocion sake? Alas how are our Orphans bought and solde, Our widowes forst to mary where they nould, What vowe, what oth, what bond most strongly knit, Doth hold, where gayne may growe by breaking it? And when our preachers tell them ought hereof, What do they then save eyther threat or skof? Which causeth such as would thy manhode spoyle, And rob from thee the merite of thy royle, To hate thy word, and count our prophetes evill, Wyshing them both together at the devill. Are these thy vine? thy flocke canst thou them call That steale thy landes, thy goodes, thy glory and all? Whan for these sins I sent them late the sweat, How low they croucht, so hard they dyd intreat, What earnest vowes they made they would amend, But as you see nought lesse they dyd entend: For I no sooner had withdrawen my curse, But they as soone were fallen from yll to wurse. For where they vowed to flye and set aside Theyr covetise, theyr othes, theyr fare, theyr pride, They raysd theyr rents, theyr fines, theyr marchādises, And glut their paunche with daynty wine and spices, The Idollyke with pounsed silke and gold, Arayd theyr wives and children yong and old: As for them selves who marketh their attyer, Would thinke them Gods more like then brittle myer, And shall we suffer so perverse a nacion To skorne and mocke their God on such a fashion? No no my sonne, that were agaynst all ryght, Yet for thy sake, I wil not stroye them quight, But for to trye them once at thy request I will but touch their king, and warne the rest To amend their lives, which if they do delay I will take their king, their comfort life and stay: And if they set his death to at their heele, I will powre downe plages till every one do feele. This sayd, he called to his seruaunt Crasy cold, Whom the Isy king kept prisoner in his hold Beneath the Poales, where vnder he doth dwell In grysly darke like to the diepe of hell, In rockes and caves of snow • nd ••• ttred yse That never thaw, and sayd hi • in this wise. About five Climates henceward to the South Betwene the maynland and the Occean mouth, Two ylandes lye, skarce distant forty mile: Wherof the larger and more Eastward yle Cald Britaine once, til time that peoples sin Drave out them selves & brought straunge nacions in, Is now devided into portions three, And in the same thre sundry peoples be. Of which the best and cyuil like in sight, But wurst in deede, the english nacion hight And they indwel the Southpart of the land. Fro the midst wherof (marke wel, and vnderstand) A River runneth Eastward to the mayne Sea arme, that parteth it and Fraunce in twayne. About this riuer many mighty Bowres Are cumly buylt with Castels, Halles, and Towres, In which the King and Rulers commonly In Wynter time with al theyr housholdes lye. To one of these I wil thou hye in poste, To that I meane where as the prince is moste: I thought to byd thee marke the great resort, But do not so, for other beare a ports As great as he, and greater otherwhile: But take this note, which will the not begile, The mournful chere of many a suters face Will shew the sure which is his biding place. And when thou hast his place and person found, I will thou shalt his helthy body vnsound: But see thou hurt him not vnto the death, Thou shalt but stop his Loungpipes, that his breth Constraynd, may cause the cough brede in his brest: Els what shall cure or quel vp al the rest. But in this feat I charge the see thou looke Thou harme him not while he is at his booke, Or other kinde of vertuous exercise: Neyther yet at game so it ve voyd of vice. But if this Winter time thou mayst him marke To ride all day all armde about the parke, Or els at dice, or tenis out of time To overwatch or toyle him selfe, for such a crime Strike hardily, but not to hard, I say: This is thy charge, about it, go thy way. Scarce was this errand throwly to him tolde, But forth he came this shivering crasy cold, With Ysikles bebristled like a Bore, About his head behind and eke before. His skin was hard, al made of glassy yse, Ouerheard with hore frost, like gray Irishe Frise, His armes and legges, to kepe him warme I trow, Wer skaled through with flakes of frosen snowe, And from his mouth there reekt a breth so hot, As touched nothing that congeled not. And when he had arowsd him selfe a while. And stretcht his ioyntes as stiffe as any stile: Because he would his charge no longer slacke. He got him vp on blustring Boreas backe, And forth he went: but his horse so heauy trode, That al the world might knowe which way he rode. For in his way there grew no maner grene, That could in thre dayes after wel be sene. His breth and braying was so sharpe and thryl, That fluds for feare hard cluddered stoode full stil. The seas did quake and tremble in such sort, That never a ship durst venter out of port. The holtes, the heathes, the hilles became al hore, The trees did shrinke, al thinges were troubled sore. When this fel horseman with his griesly stede Had passed Iseland, and made forth such spede, That many Skots bad: Fule yle ta the Churle, That slue their lambes and cattall with his whurle; He passed Yorke, and came to London strayt, And there alight to geve his horse a bayt. Where ere he had three dayes in stable stood, Be eat so much, the poore could get no wood, Except they would pay after double price, For Billet treble vnder common cise. But Crasy cold lurkt al this while at court, To watche his time when he the king might hourt: And when he saw him on a morning, sweat, And call for drinke to coole his tennis heat, He slyly crept, and hid him in the cup: And when the King, alas, had drunke him vp, Into his stomacke downward he him got, And there parceyving all the inwards hot, And that eche part ful gredily did plucke To save it selfe, all succour it might sucke, He marke the chile that went vnto the Lounges, And throwly myxt his vertue ther amonges: And cooling it, so stopt the pipes therwith, As to dissolve pure nature wanted pith? This doen, to London strait this fyend he came, And there infected divers with the same: Wherof most part not over charely tended, Recovered well, and throwly are amended, And sum whose nature phisicke overprest, Are goen to God, and slepe in quyet rest. Whan Crasy cold this cruel fear had wrought, He tooke his steede that had him thither brought. And furth he rode to him that sent him hither, And so forth home, or els I wot not whither. Right sore ackrasde, within a day or twayne The King gan sicke, and of his brest complayne. The iuyce congelde that in his Lounges lay rawe, Did stop the pipes, wherthrough the breth should draw▪ By meane wherof his stomacke waxed faynt, Till nature holpe through medicinall constraynt, Did make a way by purging part therof, Wherof ensewed a sore and vehement cough, Wyth reaching oft, as if the hart should breake, Wherby the vitall blud becam to weake. For helpe wherof phisici • ns did repayre, And for his ayde did kepe him from the ayre: But when the King awhile was mist abrode, His louers mournde, the preachers layd on lode, Who seing the prince plagde for the peoples sin, Exhorted all amendment to begin. Fore warning, if we would not turne in time, His grace should dye, and we should beare the crime: And after his death such cruell plages ensue. As all should feele, and then to late, should rue. The Magistrate was playnly tolde his fault. The man of lawe was warned not to halte: Request was made the church goodes to restore, Or put to the vse that they wer taken for. Leasmungring Landlords, such as raysed rent, Wer moved to bate their Lands to auncient stent, The waste, the fare, the vaynnes of attyre, Extorcion, malice, covetous desyre, All Papistry, with fruteles gospel boast, Was cryed agaynst, and damnde as wicked most. And to be briefe, fro the lowest to the hyest, All wer desired to live the lawe of Christ. With earnest threats, from God the living Lord, In whose iust iye all sinne is sore abhord, That if we did not these our faultes repent, The King should dye, and we to late lament. But out alas, how wer these preachers heard? The heades withdrew their presens, all afearde Least sum good mocion might amend their minde. By whose example, the people (nought by kinde) Tooke hart of grasse the preachers to despise: And slaundred them with shameles forged lyes. Gods bytter threats they made a very mocke, His prophetes eke a common iesting stocke, As for amendment, none at al was sene, But into wurs all yls were turned clene. Whan God had suffred all these thinges a space, And saw at last how all refused his grace, And that no threates might cause them to retyer, To stay the stroke of his consuming ire, He fully agreed to take this blessed childe: For spede wherof, he vtterly exylde All meanes by which he might recover force. Than did his griefe so sore assault the corse That euery vayne and muscle gan to swell, Which bred a payne much like the panges of hell: In which the piteous Prince a pining laye, In hope all hopeles, many a wofull daye. But God which sawe the terror of the payne Wherin so long this innocent had layne, Because he would for it provide an ayde, He called Death, and thus to him he sayd: Dispatch at ones, to Greenwich se thou hye, Where my elect, King Edward, sicke, doth lye In paynfull panges, wherin he hath be long, Not for his owne, but for his peoples wrong: Enforce thyne arme, and with thy cruell dart Cleave me in twayne his vertuous godly hart. What, wepest thou Death? Ceas foole, & hold thy toung▪ What though he be both beawtifull and young, So learnd a prince, so manly, and so meeke As seldome had, nor eft shall have his like? He is to good for that vngracious Realme: Wherfore dispatch, go strike thy stroke extreme. Take no compassion on his tender youth, His wit, his vertue, or earnest zeale of truth. But wotst thou what, let not thy fourme be such An ougly shape, as to the worldly ruch It oft appeares: But lovely, as it is To such as long for euerlasting blisse. With cumly shape, and smiling chere, I say, Go lewse his soule, have done, and go thy way. Whan doutful Death had heard this hard devise, He trymd him selfe in his most cumly guyse, Like Mercury in euery kinde of grace, Save that he had a much more lovely face: And forth he flewe, and got him to the bed, Wherin the King lay neyther quicke nor dead, But in a traunce: for why his deadly griefe, And nature strave, to prove who should be chiefe. But when weke nature had consumde her best, She yelded her, and so the struggle ceast. Wherby the King cam to him selfe agayne, And seing death, he turnd away amayne: For why his yongth, and yet vnfloured breth, Could not consent to so vnripe a death. Drye Death him selfe with pity moved thoe, Had much to do to hide his inward woe: And seing the lovely prince so sore afrayd, With smiling there to cumfort him, he sayd. Most noble King, abashe not, but assent, Nor God the almightye hath me hither sent: Who much lamenting this your wofull case, Would have you cum to solas with his grace, In life, in blisse, in everlasting glory, From worldly thinges all vile and transitory, From this your state vncertayne and vnsure, Unto a Raygne that shall for ay indure. No sooner had our Soverayne heard of this, But loe, his goast (which long had longd for blisse) Would nedes away: Howbeit his carefull minde For this his realme, which he should leave behind, Did move his grace to pray death stay awhile, To thend he might him selfe both reconcile To God his king, and also recommende His realme to him for ever to defend. And while that Death for this cause gladly stayed, He set him vp, and thus to God he prayed. HAve mercy on me father dere, O Lord, and God of truth, O let thy mercy hide the sins, and fraylty of my youth. I have transgrest thy lawe to oft, full woe is me therfore, But for thy sonne my saviours sake, my selly soule restore. My flesh doth crave to kepe the life, ful loth to loose the lyght: But Lorde, do thou as shal seme best, to thine almighty sight. And whan thou hast receyved my soule, which troubles overwhelm Be mercifull (most mercifull) to this my wretched Realme. Preserve thy truth, mayntayne thy word, powre plenty of thy grace, On all such hartes as thou shalt set, to governe in my place. Thus Lorde, I render to thy handes, my selfe, my flocke, my seat, Do with them all thy blessed will, for Christes sake I entreat. Amen ꝙ death, and with his percing dart, He strake in twayne the kinges yet praying hart. But Lord how glad the goast was of the stroke, For when it sawe the prison gate was broke, Fast furth it flewe, and vp to heaven went To rest with God in ioyes that never stent: The soulles body about the bed did sprall, While they about it on the King did call, Adawing him as if he wer in swound: But all for nought, he had his deadly wound. And when the blud, that went to helpe the hart, Had sweltred it, and left eche other part, Than waxt his face and handes all pale and wan, And when the bludles partes to coole began, To heavenward his handes and iyes he cast, Downe fell his iawes, his hart stringes all to brast, And still he lay, for lively heat was past. Thus dyed this King, this giltles blessed childe, In body and soule, a virgin vndefilde, The sixtenth yere of his vnperfect age. Wo wurth vs men, whose sins let run at rage Have murdred him: wo wurth vs wretches all, On whom the wreke of righteous bloud must fall. Wo wurth our sins, for they, alas, have slayne, The noblest prince that dyd, or eft shall rayne. Sapien .iiii. ☞Thus the righteous which is dead, condemneth the vngodly which are liuing, and the youth that is soone brought to an ende, the long life of the vnrighteous.

¶ An exhortacion to the repentaunce of sinnes, and amendment of life, vvhich were the cause of the kinges death, & wil be the destruction of the Realme if God be not the more mercifull vnto vs. ALl Englishe people what so ever ye bee, Rulers, and subiectes of every degree, Whose horrible vices have moved the wrath Of God so to skourge vs, as lately it hath, By bringing our Souerayne to soone to his ende, Repent your misliving, and quickly amende: For that was the cause of the Kings death in deede, And will be his heires to, without better heede. Repent O ye Princes, your gredy desyer Of honour and riches, wherby set on fyer, You rob vnder colour of Christen professson, From Christ and his poore, their right and possession. You oppresse the people through sale of your lust, Repent, recompence to, and learne to be iust: For this was the cause of the Kings death in dede, And will be the kingdomes without better hede. Repent you prelates your seking promocion, Your gredy gathering, your lacke of deuocion, Your to much care for your children and wives, Your whorish abusing, your wife lothing lives, Your popishe errours, your fowle dirogacion Of Christ his manhode, his merites and passion: For this was the cause of the Kings death in dede And wil be his heires to, without better hede. Repent O you subiectes, your disobedience To God and good Rulers, your great irreverence To true religion, your elders and teachers, Your mocking and skorning of gods holy preachers, Your common swearing, transgression of lawes, Your troubling your neyghbours for every light cause For this was the cause of the Kings death in dede, And will be the Quenes without better hede. Repent you officers all the deceytes You vse in your paymentes and in your receytes, Your bribe bought audites, your subtile surueyinges, Your thevish accompts made by crafty conueyings, Your robbing the rulers that put you in trust: Repent, recompence to, hence forward be iust. For that was the cause of the Kings death in deede, And will be his sisters, without better heede. Repent you false lawiers your racking and strayning To make all lawes serve to your gredy gayning, Your robbing the riche, your vndoing the poore, Your making the law and iustice an whore, Which no man enbrace may vntil she be solde For great mens fauours, or hye heapes of golde. For this was the cause of the kinges death in dede, And wil be the kingdomes without better hede. Repent you marchantes your straunge marchandises Of personages, prebends, auowsons of benefices, Of landes, of leases, of office, of fees, Your monging of vitayles, corne, butter, and cheese: Your cariyng out good wares, and bringing such in As sarve to no purpose, save bredyng vp sin. For this was the cause of the kinges death in dede And wil be his sisters without better hede. Repent you caytifes your raysing of rent Your fines, your incoms, yet never at a stent. Your turning of tillage so much into pasture, That townes and towneships are ruyned past cure: Your wasting of woods, your ingrossing chepe wares, To make dearth of plenty, to encreace others cares. For this was the cause of the Kings death in dede, And wil be the kingdomes without better hede. Repent you Iudges your parciall iudgementes, Your quitting the giltye, your quelling innocentes For mede, for drede, for spite or for pleasure. Repent you Rufflers thabuse of your treasure, Your othes, your fury, your els many a cryme Beside the expence of your bodyes and time. For these wer a cause of the Kings death in dede And wil be the kingdomes without better hede. Repent you Leachers your dissolute lives, Your causeles divorsing your true wedded wives, Your crafty alluring the silly to sinne, Your bying of Orphans to wed to your kin, Your forcing of widdowes vnwilling to mary To cause breth of wedlocke, sith nedes they must vary: For this was the cause of the kinges death in dede, And wil be the kingdomes without better hede. To conclude, let eche man of every degree Bewayle his offences what so ever they be, And aske God forgevenes, and make recompens To those he hath harmed through any offence: For sure if we do not, such plagues wil ensewe, As never cam yet vpon heathen nor Iewe. For our sins were the cause of the Kings death in dede, And wil be the kingdomes without better hede. Sith we all already are gilty of murder, Ceas we all for Gods sake, to sin any furder, O sleys not our Soverayne, our most noble Queen, Whose match in vertue hath seldome be seen, But pray the almighty her life to defend. Repent, recompence, pray, pay, and amend. For if our sins send her to her brother, Swift vengeance wil folow, let none looke for other. ❀Syrach the .x. Because of vnrighteous dealing, of wrong, of blasphemies, & sundry deceytes, a Realme shalbe translated from one people to an other.