In which as in a glasse, seeing men may see That action only dignifies the name, That vertue betters euery bare degree, That vading pleasures vpshot is but shame, And silent sloth the opposite to fame, Commit to mind, what I commend to thee, That vnto men a Mirrour it may bee. THE LIFE AND DEATH _of King Edmvnd, svrnamed_ Ironside. THE ARGUMENT. “This was a worthie prince,” quoth Memorie, “Peerelesse amongst the kings of Britanie, After whose death the British rule did cease, And th’English power did more and more increase: For not long after on the Britaine throne The Saxon kings did rule and raigne alone, Who did at first agree in one consent To make seuen kingdomes of this regiment, Which did in that confused sort remaine Till the beginning of king _Egbert’s_ raigne: About which time from Denmarke with strong hand _Inguar_ and _Hubba_ came t’inuade this land, With whom the Saxons manfully did fight, And turn’d them oftentimes to coward flight: Yet did they heere long time beare great command, Though many a valiant king did them withstand, 'Mongst whom I find this one, whose tragedie Is not recited in our historie, Which _Edmund_ call’d, surnamed _Ironside_, A famous prince, in battell often tride, Whom fortune still did grace with victorie In fight against _Canute_ his enemie: Yet by the cruell fates vniust command He lost his life by wicked traytor’s hand, Whom vp from graue let fame with summons call, To take his turne and tell his tragicke fall.” ANOTHER ARGUMENT. Fame calles vp _Edmund_ from his graue below, His life and lamentable death to show. [Illustration] 1. We are not borne vnto our selues alone, Deeds done, though good: yet from a greedy mind Intending priuate weale, when life is gone, Vading away, leaue no record behind In fame’s faire booke, for future age to find: Self-loue to priuate good, no good can craue, When life is gone such loue lies dead in graue. 2. The fruits of loue, which after life do liue, To grow from loue of common good are seene, To reape such fruit, whoso his life shall giue, Though dead, yet liues: his fruit aye waxeth greene, Of which my life a Mirrour might haue been: But whose sad muse my tragedie doth sing, Or who to light king _Edmund’s_ deeds doth bring? 3.