The widdowes solace
To the tune of Robinsons Almaine.
Mourne no more faire widdow,
teares are all in vaine:
Tis neither griefe nor sorrow,
can call the dead againe.
Man’s well enough compared
vnto the Summers flower:
Which now is faire and pleasant,
yet withered in an houre.
And mourne no more in vaine,
as one whose faith is small:
Be patient in affliction,
and giue god thanks for all
All men are borne to dye,
the Scripture telleth plaine,
Of earth we are created,
to earth we must againe.
Twas neither Cressus treasure,
nor Alexanders fame,
Nor Solomon by wisdome,
that could deaths fury tame.
No Physicke might preserue them
when nature did decay:
What man can hold for euer,
the thing that will away?
Then mourn no more, &c.
Though you haue lost your husband,
your comfort in distresse:
Consider God regardeth
the widdowes heauinesse.
And hath straightly charged,
such as his children be,
The fatherlesse and widdow,
to shield from iniury.
Then mourn no more, &c.
If he were true and faithfull,
and louing vnto thee,
Doubt not but ther’s in England,
enough as good as he.
But if that such affection,
within his heart was none:
Then giue God praise and glory,
that he is dead and gone.
And mourn no more, &c.
Receiue such sutors friendly,
as do resort to thee:
Respect not the outward person,
but the inward grauity:
And with aduised iudgment,
chuse him aboue the rest:
Whom thou by proofe hast tried,
in heart to loue thee best.
Then mourn no more. &c.
Then shalt thou leade a life,
exempt from all annoy:
And whensoeuer it chanceth,
I pray God giue thee ioy.
And thus I make an end,
with true humilitie,
In hope my simple solace,
shall well accepted be.
Then mourn no more in vaine, &c.
FINIS.
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