An elegy to the never dying fame, of that ever-living lover of vertue, the right worshipful the Lady Muriel Knyvet, late wife of the right worshipful Sir Thomas Knevet, Knt. who ceased to live among mortals 26 Apr. Anno Incarn. Dni. 1616.
Here Norfolk's Wonder lies, a Phenix right, Who might be term'd for her good Deeds so many; In doing Good who took her chief delight, Not caring for vain Pleasure momentary, &c.
Per Oliver Johnsonum Tyronem Nordowicensem.
This Sir Thomas, was a man of great repute, and much beloved for his hospitality and good nature, for which he was eminent, as the following ballad containing an incredible story (the tradition of which still remains) fully declares:
The Baliad of Ashwell-Thorp, made in Sir Thomas Knevet's time.
Once there liv'd a Man, Deny it they that can, Who liberal was to the Poore; I dare boldly say, They ne're were sent away, Empty Handed from his Doore.
When Misers in Holes crept, Then open House he kept, Where many then, did resort, Some for Love of good Beere, And others for good Cheere, And others for to make Sport.
There was a Gentleman, From London Citty came, The Countrey for to see, And all in the Pryme, Of jovial Chistmass Time, There merry for to be.
This Londoner did say, If the Gentry would give way, A Trick to them he w'd show, That an Acorn he would sett, If they would please to ha'te, Which to a great Tree should grow.
The Acorn he pull'd out, And shewed it all about, In his Hand then he took it agayne, In the presence of them all, In the middle of the Hall, He sat down the Acorne playne.
