❧ The Pope's pitiful Lamentation, for the death of his dear darling Don joan of Austria: and Death's answer to the same. With an Epitaphe upon the death of the said Don joan. Translated after the French printed copy. by H. C.  
¶ The Pope's Lamentation.  
O Heaven, O Earth, O elements,  
and all therein contained,  
Lament with me, power forth your plaints  
just cause hath so constrained,  
Sigh cursed Death, in cruel wise,  
hath reft me my delight:  
Don joan of Austria▪ he that sought,  
by all the means he might,  
To save my church & me from harm▪  
to strengthen my estate,  
And with his power, to punish those  
that did my doings hate.  
Mine eyes send forth, your brinish tears,  
more cause you never had:  
Since he is dead, whose douty deeds  
erst made my heart full glad.  
Now let my halls be hanged about,  
with mestfull morning weed●:  
For plea●ant things, procure my pain,  
delights my dole do breed.  
Come, come, my careful Cardnalles now,  
my Prelates and the rest:  
That wonted were to wish me well,  
I pray ye all be priest.  
To wail with woe, the want of him,  
that during term of life:  
Neglected naught that might be wrought  
to make our glory rife.  
Alas how am I gripped with grief,  
what cares do compass me:  
For loss of him, whom I ordained,  
my Champion chief to be,  
To ●ight with those that were my foes,  
whom I had handled so,  
That he beleeude I was a God,  
aswell as many more,  
That with my charms I did enchant  
to find his like again  
In all the world, who so should seek,  
would labour lose in vain.  
And for this cause I called him,  
to state of high degree:  
Provoking him to that which should  
for my preferment be.  
Full well my covenants could he keep  
my laws and statutes large,  
My Bulls, & pardons, pleased him well  
they wear his chiefest charge.  
And therefore Death, I curse thee now  
and eke thy cruel dart:  
Which did to that renowned Prince,  
thy poisoned power impart.  
These Huguenots thou mightest have hit,  
to pacify thine ire,  
And let this worthy wight alone,  
to further my desire.  
Thou hast not only stricken him,  
but diverse more beside:  
As by thy deadly Dart appears,  
that in their blood was died.  
Thy furious force from me remove,  
and strait thy strength extend  
Upon a Prince whose name I hate,  
at him thy battery bend.  
So shall my sorrow somewhat cease,  
but greater griefs will grow,  
If thus thou seek 'gainst me and mine  
thy rigorous rage to show.  
FINIS.   

¶ deaths answer.  
CUrse me as much, as care thou can,  
I way it naught at all:  
Each earthly Wight I can constrain,  
to come when I do call.  
T●e s●ruaunt o● the living Lord  
〈◊〉 am and must obey  
His heavenvly hests, whom he commands  
I must without delay  
Deprive of life, my piercing Dart  
must execute his will  
On all that bide within my bounds,  
not one can scape by sk●ll.  
Both Princes, Lords & lofty Peers,  
I quickly can constrain  
To follow me, and quite forego  
their goodly gorgeous train.  
Thyself that sayst thou art a God,  
to blind and blear men's eyes,  
Shalt pass the path that oth●rs do,  
no means thou mayst devise.  
To shun the snare, but with the rest  
thou must my rigours taste:  
If I intend to touch thee once,  
thy wailful words are waste.  
Though frantic fools thy court frequent  
from countries far & ne●re:  
And honour thee as God on earth,  
to make thy pomp appear●:  
Whereby they rob the living Lord,  
of all his honour quite:  
I'll pull thee from thy princely throne,  
and master thee by might.  
Thy treasures nor thy triple crown  
thy gems and Iwels rare,  
Cannot corrupt me so, as I  
thy cursed corpses will spare.  
When I shall call thee from thy pomp  
that pampreth thee in pride,  
Then shall I laugh to see thee loath,  
my doleful doom to bide:  
For so my common custom is,  
when with my deadly dart  
I strike those wights, that one the world  
have wholly s●t their heart.  
Alas saith one, a stately house,  
replete with riches rare,  
A dainty dame, whose dear delights,  
can comfort all my care,  
And store of goodly ground I have,  
well grown with grass and grain  
Fair flocks of sheep, & feeding beasts,  
with all that may maintain  
A happy life: yet must I die,  
and leave them all behind?  
O heavy hap, what greater grief,  
might ever gripe my mind.  
Another saith, I have a wife,  
whose beauty doth surmount:  
Fair children fraught with nature's gifts  
which makes my joys to mount▪  
Above the clouds: and there withal  
such gobs of gold I have,  
with plate & precious stones such store  
as heart can wish or crave:  
Yet nothing may my ransom pay▪  
nor me from death redeem,  
He reaks not riches, every one  
he doth alike esteem.  
Poor people are not found so fond,  
my furious force to fly  
No means they seek, but when I strike,  
they gladly grant to die.  
And therefore had I rath●r far.  
the richer sort assail:  
That I myself might merry make,  
to see them weep and wail.  
FINIS.   

¶ Don Joan'S Epitaph.  

Done joan of Austria here entombed doth lie,  
that was the worthy warrior willon named  
Who proudly did of late, his power apply,  
the fatal foil of Flaunders to have framed.   

Of stomach stout, and hawghty heart he was,  
and made his vaunt the Emperor's son to be▪  
But yet the thing, he thought to bring to pass,  
the living Lord hath frustrate made we see.   
The first of October. 1578.  
L'acquis abonde.  
FINIS.   

❧ Imprinted by I.C.