¶ A ditty In the worthy praise of an high and mighty Prince.  
WHen heaps of heavy hap, had filled my heart right full,  
And sorrow set forth pensiveness, my joys away to pull:  
I ranged then the woods, I romde the fields about,  
A thousand sighs I set at large, to seek their passage out.  
And walking in a dump, or rather in despair,  
I cast my weeping eye a side, I saw a field full fair:  
And looking upward than, I spied a Mount therein,  
Which Flora had even for her life, decked as you have not seen.  
Then could I not but think the same some sacred place,  
Where God or Gods such did dwell, as might relieve my case:  
I sat me down, for why? Death could but stop my breath,  
And to a man so sorrowful, what sweeter is then death?  
No sooner was I set, but sleep approached mine eye,  
Wherein the Nymphs of Helicon appeared by and by.  
And strait those sisters nine, the ground of musics art,  
My thought did strive who might prevail, to ease my heavy heart.  
The cunning they showed there, the subtle notes they sung,  
As with a wrist clean from my heart (my thought) the cares they wrong:  
Celestial were the notes, which then (amazed) I heard,  
Their ditties eke were wonderful, note ye whom they preferred.  
As for thy blood (ꝙ they) right noble we confess,  
Thy pettigrée (to long for us) the Heralds can express.  
But happy happy Duke, the second child of Fame,  
Which (next unto the highest) she doth so recoumpt the same.  
And happy Thomas once, twice happy Norfolk toe,  
Thrice happy men that lead your lives, where Howard hath to do:  
Which howard's happy days, they prayed God to increase,  
Three times the space of Nature's course, like Nestor live in peace.  
What age hath seen his like, so free of purse and tongue?  
Where lives a juster justice now, though rare in one so young?  
What plaint can there be told, to his most godly ear?  
But that he keeps the other still, the blamed soul to hear?  
In meekness he more meek, then is the meekest Dove,  
Yet is his secret wisdom such, he knoweth whom to love:  
In friendship, he surmounts Gisippus and his Tite,  
All Nobles may well note his race, and thereby take their light.  
In peace a Solomon, in war so stout a Prince,  
As reigned not till Hector came, nor lived never since:  
Then Scevola, more firm, which for his countries turn,  
His hand from arm before his foes, in fiery slame did burn.  
He in the pride of peace, delights in martial show,  
Do mark his turnoys upon horse, note well his use of bow.  
Nay mark him yet that shall, note well his painfulness,  
No sugared sleep can make him friend to sluggish Idleness.  
What that becomes a Prince, in his good grace doth want?  
In peace, a courtier for the Court, a second Mars in camp.  
Thus still they sung, whose notes were cause of my relief,  
And I be wrapped in a Trance, had clean forgot my grief:  
And triple were my joys, once, cause my pains were passed,  
And twice again, because that Prince amongst us here is placed.  
I clapped my hands for joy (alas) I waked withal,  
And then my muses and their songs, my joys were gone and all.  
And then returned my grief, I felt a further care,  
Because to show what I had seen, did pass my power so far:  
And that a man unlearnd, of art that hath no skill,  
Should have a charge so great as this, and could do it so ill.  
Yet thus I 'gan to wright, I knew right well that he,  
Which due desert did thus commend, should shade the want in me:  
To whom I pray the Lord, to send like years a Noye  
In happy health and quiet state, to his and all our joy.  
¶ FINIS. Ber. Gar.   

¶ Imprinted at London without Aldersgate in little Britain, by Alexander Lacy.