Ten thousand pound he gave
To his prince willingly,
And would not one penny have.
This in kind courtesie.
God did thus make him great,
So would he daily see
Poor people fed with meat,
To shew his charity.

Prisoners poore cherish'd were,
Widdowes sweet comfort found;
Good deeds, both far and neere,
Of him do still resound.
Whittington Colledge is
One of his charities,
Records reporteth this
To lasting memories.

Newgate he builded faire,
For prisoners to live in;
Christ's Church he did repaire,
Christian love for to win.
Many more such like deedes
Were done by Whittington;
Which joy and comfort breedes,
To such as looke thereon.

Lancashire thou hast bred
This flower of charity;
Though he be gone and dead,