PANCHARIS: The first Book. Containing The Preparation of the Love between OWEN TUDYR, and the QUEEN, Long since intended to her Maiden MAJESTY: And now dedicated TO THE INVINCIBLE JAMES, Second and greater Monarch of great Britain, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the Islands adjacent.  Mar. Valerius Martialis. Victurus Genium debet habere liber. 
Printed at London by V. S. for Clement Knight, M D CIII.   

TO MY LORD THE KING. Sonnet Acrostic.  
IMage of God; first as a Man, and then  
As King, by most Desert, and only Right:  
Man is the King of Creatures, and thy might  
Exceeds this too, for thou art King of men.  
Sun of our Sphaeie, may never Cloud up pen  
So radiant Beams from thy poor subjects sight:  
That still our Eyes may see their happy Light,  
e'en as their Heat did warm our Bosoms, when  
Unseen they shone beneath the fixed Star.  
Up Noble Mind to thy fifth Empirie,  
And some yet higher than thy fortunes ar:  
Resemble Heaven in all but Levity,  
Take after Earth in nothing more or less  
Except an irremooved Staidness.   

TO THE BRIGHT QUEEN ANNE his dear Wife, and our dread Lady.  

1  
WHat is she that like silver Cynthia shoeth  
Amidst the host of heaven,  
But fairer three times seven?  
It is the Queen of Love, see where she goeth.  
The Queen of Love and Beauty, (lo) together  
With her fair son the Prince of Love comes hither   

2  
The Southpole that in our Horizon shined,  
And made the Earth to wonder,  
Gone is that Earth all under,  
And to the Northpole hath her room resigned:  
On whom to wait our Eyes and Hearts persever,  
And may they cease, o never, never, never   

3  
Thou in whose Zodiac of white arms enchained  
Our Sun so oft hath shined,  
In whose womb was confined  
What in this Isle scorns to be long contained;  
Live thou and he, and mayst thou see him rather  
Copartner than Successor to his Father.    

TO MY LORD THE PRINCE. Sonnet Acrostic.  
Heir of thy Sires four Realms, and (which I more  
Esteem) four virtues, that unto a fifth,  
No doubt will thee (o slowly slowly) lift;  
●e●●iue this Rhyme of thine old Auncestore  
●ong Prince of Wales, and pardon me therefore.  
So may glad VICTORY be one day swift  
To crown thy sacred head (that art a grift  
Extracted hence) with holy Bays, before  
(Unvanquished or unhurt by sea or land)  
Upon thy brow the Wreath of England sit:  
And I with crowned head, but armed hand,  
Ride by thy Lordly side, and after it  
Turn from thy Grandsire's loves to sing thy wars,  
Exchanging Venus' Mole for Mars' scars.   

Illustrissimae Dominae. ARBELLAE STVARTAE. Sonulus Elegeiacus Acrostichus.  
A Vricomum alterius Mundi iubar altera Virgo,  
Regia cui stirps est, Mens neque stirpe minor;  
But imperfectum facili cape fronte Poema:  
Est quia perfectus qui tibi mittit amor.  
Lactea nec Venus est illic, nec Vena, nec unquàm  
Latus Amor Musa novit adesse meae.  
Attamen Eugenij sacros cantillat amores,  
Senfit amans socium queis Catherina jugum.  
Tandem orata Venus sic ambos iuvit amantes,  
unde genus tantis Regibus, atque tibi.  
Atque mihi scribenti utinam sic aequa fuisset:  
Ritè ego si colui, dum sub Amore fui.  
Tutamen (horriduiae faveas licet ipsa Dianae)  
Alma veni, Musis & Venus esto meis.   

Clarissimo & Candidissimo jngenio Praeceptori olim, semper Amico GULIELMO CAMDENO Armorum Regi nulli secundo Poemation hoc censendum & emendandum mitto.  
NAnus Musaei cupit in quacunque locari  
part liber, magnum nec capit ille locum.  
Sed neque se magnis studet immiscere Poetis  
Quales Meonides maximus, atque Maro.  
Cern●us hic veterum lambat vestigia vatum,  
Atque pio sanctos basiet ore pedes.  
Cum Nasone tamen ponas (hic namque libellus  
Sanctior, ut multis doctior ille modis)  
Vel cum Chaucero (nec enim mihi fidus Amator  
Est minùs, & multo Nympha pudic a magis.)  
Plus quoque quam tetigisse pedes fortasse meretur,  
Quando tuas meritus sit tetigisse manus.   

Andreas Downes Graecus professor Regius Cantabrigiae.  
ANtiquos memorat vatum chorus omn is amores,  
Sed plerumque quibus non Venus aequa fuit:  
Foelices holland canis foeliciter igneis  
Tu veterum, quibus haud abnuit alma Venus.  
Et REGINA fuit memorabilis, & THEODORUS:  
Illam qui meruit, carmine dignus erat.  
Nec tant●m furor ambobus fuit ille secundus,  
Nec blandum hoc modò tum iuvit utrumque jugum:  
Sed populos domuit saevos gentesque feroceis  
Hic tandem placidè conciliavit amor.  
Cuius nunc voluend a dies fructum attulit vitro,  
Et maiore beat munere longa dies.  
Namque tribus populis discordibus insula dives  
Ante colebatur, bellaque crebra movet.  
Verùm exhinc mox laeta duos Concordia iunxit,  
Firmus & hic stabili foedere vinxit amor.  
Tertia magnanimis restabant regna Britannis,  
Haec quoque magnifico sub duce nunc coeunt.  
Hac etenim de stirpe venit Rex inclytus, atque  
Clara recens soboles, & nova progenies.  
Quae penitus toto seclusos orb Britannos  
Aeternâ reget in pace, favente Deo.  
Et maioribus auspicijs dominabitur orae,  
Circumquaque ingens quà fluit Oceanus:  
Sceptra tenens, diadema gerens, JACOBI age honores,  
Aggredere ô magnos, maxime, laetus ovans.  
Horridulâ genitum in regione Eremanthidos Arcti,  
Sol regem vidit te simul atque hominem.  
Creverunt animi pariter crescentibus annis,  
Sors tandem aequa animis cedere regna jubet.  
Finibus exiguis arctari magna recusant,  
Virtuti campum fata dedêre parem.  
Mollior horrifero Boreae superadditus Auster,  
una est virtutis facta palaestra tibi.  
quam sapiens fuit Empedocies, qui foedere amoris,  
Et caelo & terrâ cuncta coire facit!  
I nunc ô vates & Theseas atque Ariadnas  
Medeasque truces dic & Amazonidas:  
Materiam noster novit sibi sumere dignam,  
Dignos & versus pangere materiâ.   

Nicolai Hilli Carmen Testamentale & viaticum.  
NVnc migro, nec patrios forsan rediturus ad agros  
Vrget, & officij debita cura premit.  
Quid prohibebit enim quin veri testis honestem,  
Quem studij paritas iustraque multa probant?  
Raptim & discedens verbo quod sentio dicam,  
Totius gregis est gloria, nemo gregis.  
Ornat & egregijs Catherinam millibus effert:  
Vt canit ille suam, sic canit illa suum.   

E: B: Anacreontickes.  
Scarce till now hath ENGLAND seen  
A Poem, but of verses store;  
Here an unenforced green  
Hath native flowers, which heretofore  
Had, at most, well painted been,  
As was the season which them bore:  
Arts each Venus that doth shine  
In ancient Poesy, here more.  
HOLLAND, this first birth of thine  
Put forth imperfect, stands before  
The finished, and shall in fine  
Somewhat be new for worlds t'adore:  
CYNTHIUS (as we divine)  
And the MUSES, and the GRACES,  
And their QUEEN, by thee refine  
Bastard Songs, whose common bases  
Were but words, that KATHERINE  
Beauty ęquall to her faces  
Might enjoy Here then unheard  
A Princely Love, and learned Bard.   

Ben: johnson. Ode. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  

WHo saith our Times nor have, nor can  
Produce us a black Swan?  
Behold, where one doth swim;  
Whose Note, and Hue,  
Besides the other Swans admiring him,  
Betray it true:  
A gentler Bird, than this,  
Did never dint the breast of Tamisis.   

Mark, mark, but when his wing he takes,  
How fair a flight he makes!  
How upward, and direct!  
Whilst pleased Apollo  
Smiles in his Sphere, to see the rest affect,  
In vain to follow:  
This Swan is only his,  
And Phoebus love cause of his blackness is.   

He show'd him first the hoofe-cleft Spring,  
Near which, the Thespiad's sing;  
The clear Dircaean Fount  
Where Pindar swam;  
The pale Pyrene, and the forked Mount:  
And, when they came  
To brooks, and broader streams,  
From Zephyr's rape would close him with his beams.   

This changed his Down; till this, as white  
As the whole heard in fight,  
And still is in the Breast:  
That part nor Wind,  
Nor Sun could make to vary from the rest,  
Or alter kind.  
" So much doth Virtue hate,  
" For style of rareness, to degenerate.   

Be then both Rare, and Good; and long  
Continue thy sweet Song.  
Nor let one River boast  
Thy tunes alone;  
But prove the Air, and sail from Coast to Coast:  
Salute old Mône,  
But first to Cluid stoop low,  
The Vale, that bred thee pure, as her Hills Snow.   

From thence, display thy wing again  
Over jenrna main,  
To the Eugenian dale;  
There charm the rout  
With thy soft notes, and hold them within Pale  
That late were out.  
" Music hath power to draw,  
" Where neither Force can bend, nor Fear can awe.   

Be proof, the glory of his hand,  
(Charles Montioy) whose command  
Hath all been Harmony:  
And more hath won  
Upon the Kern, and wildest Irishry,  
Then Time hath done,  
Whose strength is above strength;  
And conquers all things, yea itself, at length.   

Who ever sipped at Baphyre river,  
That heard but Spite deliver  
His farre-admited Acts,  
And is not rap't  
With entheate rage, to publish their bright tracts?  
(But this more apt  
When him alone we sing)  
Now must we ply our aim; our Swan's on wing.   

Who (see) already hath o'erflown  
The Hebrid Isles, and known  
The scattered Orcadeses;  
From thence is gone  
To utmost Thule: whence, he backs the Seas  
To Caledon,  
And over Grampius mountain,  
To Loumond lake, and Twedes blacke-springing fountain.   

Haste, Haste, sweet Singer: Nor to Tine,  
Humber, or Owse, decline;  
But over Land to Trent:  
There cool thy Plumes,  
And up again, in skies, and air to vent  
Their reeking fumes;  
Till thou at Tames alight,  
From whose proud bosom, thou began'st thy flight.   

Tames, proud of thee, and of his Fate  
In entertaining late  
The choice of Europe's pride;  
The nimble French;  
The Dutch whom Wealth (not Hatred) doth divide,  
The Danes that drench  
Their cares in wine; with sure  
Though slower Spain; and Italy mature.   

All which, when they but hear a strain  
Of thine, shall think the Main  
Hath sent her Mermaids in,  
To hold them here:  
Yet, looking in thy face, they shall begin  
To lose that fear;  
And (in the place) envy  
So black a Bird, so bright a Quality.   

But should they know (as I) that this,  
Who warbleth PANCHARIS,  
Were CYCNUS, once high flying  
With Cupid's wing;  
Though, now by Love transformed, & daily dying:  
(Which makes him sing  
With more delight, and grace)  
Or thought they, Leda's white adulterers place   

Among the stars should be resigned  
To him, and he there shrined;  
Or Tames be rap't from us  
To dim and drown  
In heaven the Sign of old Eridamos:  
How they would frown!  
But these are Mysteries  
Concealed from all but clear Prophetic eyes.   

It is enough, their grief shall know  
At their return, nor Po,  
Iberus, Tagus, Rhine,  
Scheldt, nor the Maas,  
Slow Arar, nor swift Rhone; the Loire, nor Seine,  
With all the race  
Of Europe's waters can  
Set out a like, or second to our Swan.    

To my Maiden Muse.  

Go Virgin Muse to her Divinity,  
That is the Vesta of Virginity:  
For unto whom shouldst thou go rather  
So bound to her, and to her father?  
Be gone, and when thou comest before her,  
Upon thy knee, see thou adore her.  
For thou mayst gather by her feature,  
She is more than an earthly creature.  
In whom no Elements are combined,  
But a fifth Essence well refined  
Above the vulgar gross confections  
Of any of the four complexions,  
Phlegm, Sanguine, Melancholy, Coler.   

Tell her that once I was her Scholar,  
And how in Grammar I was grounded  
In the best school she ever founded,  
By two great Clerks (two greater wasters  
Of oil than hours) that were my Masters:  
Where I lived partly of her largesse,  
And partly of my parents charges.   

Thence was I had to learn more knowledge  
To Cambridge, and her father's College,  
Of him whose fame is flown ALL-OVER  
As well beyond as this side Dover.   

On Aristotle oft I pored,  
And here and there him over-skored.  
Where Poetry too I found defined,  
To which by birth I was inclined.  
Yet heard I worthy DOWNS in Homer,  
And every day I gleaned my gomer.   

Thus having there for Lea served  
Though some said Rachel I deserved)  
Some thought the house could stand without me.   

I than began to look about me:  
And forthwith desperately did ventre  
The wide world, in whose little Centre  
My friends (of whom death hath bereft me)  
My loving friends some living left me,  
Enough (if God the grace but lend me)  
From Cold and Hunger to defend me:  
That I may study still by leisure,  
Without all pain, and at my pleasure.   

Now the black Down began to cover  
My pale Cheeks (for I was a Lover)  
And sung Acrostic Sonnets sweetly;  
For (if that some can judge discreetly)  
I need not fear that dainty DAVIES,  
Though he sing sweeter than the Mavis.  
And of my Love they were. But stay thee,  
No more of that my Muse I pray thee.  
For either it must show my folly,  
Or else renew my Melancholy:  
Yet was she fair, and Honourable,  
And Virtuous (had she been more stable.)   

Though she perhaps did but forget her,  
And now likes May denhead the better:  
Whereof she is the richest border  
Next CYNTHIA Sovereign of that Order.   

When Love my bosom thus had fired,  
Me for his Prophet he inspired:  
That every line, and every letter  
Of my devise might pass the better.  
Yet of this Legend but the writer  
Was I, and he the sole inditer.   

For how alas can it be other?  
I am not I the Muse's brother.  
My lips I never yet have soused  
In Hippocrene, nor carowsed  
The lusty Liquor thence distilling  
The brain with holly fury filling.   

The Climate where I was begotten  
Of father Phoebus is forgotten,  
No Parnasse there (though Mountains many)  
Nor Muse (though Nymphs as fair as any)  
God wot it is too far removed  
From her, to be of them beloved.  
Apollo, they and all the Graces,  
Attend her only in all places.   

This in effect when thou hast told her,  
Thou must be yet a little bolder:  
And beg that thou mayst wait upon her,  
Among her many May des of Honour;  
A modest Maid with chaste variety,  
To lull asleep that sweet Society.  
Who may as well as any other,  
Read every line before the Mother.  
So shamefa'cd are they, and so holly,  
Void of all looseness, and light folly:  
Else had it been too much impiety,  
To vow them to so great a Deity.   

This done, again on knee low bended,  
And hands as high to heaven extended,  
Ascribe me of this golden story  
Only the pain, and her the glory:  
Praying she would but read the proem,  
And so breath life into my Poem    

PANCHARIS: THE FIRST BOOK.  

I Sing Queen Katherine and my countryman.  
O Love (if I before thy Altar spread,  
Black though I be, have oft looked pale & wan;  
And as white Turtles there have offered,  
As are those that thy whiter mother draw)  
Draw near, and with her Myrtle deck the head  
Of me thy priest, that am too rudely raw,  
Nor once have been baptised in the spring  
Of Helicon, which yet I never saw.  
A pinion pluck me out of thine own wing:  
And let thy godhead more propitious be  
Unto my thoughts whiles others loves I sing,  
Then in mine own it hath been unto me.   

AND thou O second Seaborn Queen of Love,  
In whose fair forehead Love and Majesty  
Still kiss each other (as the turtle-dove  
Doth her beloved) thou whose frown, whose smile  
Presenteth both, who dost inspire and move  
This lesser Continent, this greatest Isle:  
Let smiling Love, when Majesty would frown,  
Infuse like life and motion to my Style.  
I treat not I here of the awful Crown,  
(Though somewhat of the court) my Legend is  
Composed of Love and Beauty up and down.  
Where if I aught have said that sounds amiss,  
Immortal Maid, thou pardon me that crime,  
Sith thy white hand which (lord) I long to kiss  
May cross out all, and rectify my rhyme.  
So shall the amorous Readers seem as those,  
That have seen thee full oft and many a time.  
Yet seeing thee again, anon suppose  
They somewhat see they never saw before,  
Such spangling objects thou dost still disclose,  
As all desire to see thee more and more.   

From London Westward doth a Castle stand  
Along the Thames, which of the winding shore  
Is called Windsor, known by sea and land,  
For the rich Guarter and the holy George  
There founded first by the victorious hand  
Of warlike Edward, he that was the scourge  
And second hammer of the haughty Scot  
As the lame God in his Trinacrian Forge  
Strived first to blow the stubborn iron hot,  
And after laid about him like a Lord,  
Till he thereof the upper hand had got:  
So English Edward did with fire and sword,  
Lighten and Thunder in that Northern Clime,  
And never respite did his foe afford,  
(No nor himself almost) until the time  
As hardy David graced fair Windsores Court.  
Where also john of France, who longed to climb  
The wheel of Fortune in the self same sort,  
A captive King was after shortly seen.   

Yet neither this, nor that, so much report  
The fame of Windsor, as fair Katherine;  
She that hath yet (save her great Niece) no other,  
Daughter of France, of England Mother-queen,  
The sixth Charles daughter, the sixth Henry's mother,  
And (which is chiefest) the fifth Henry's Wife.   

Here the sad Queen full many a sigh did smother,  
Resolved still to lead a widows life.  
So chaste was she, though fair, and rich, and young,  
That young and old to praise her were at strife:  
Of her high honour all musicans sung,  
And thereto each sweet Poet tuned his pen,  
That therewith England and all Europe rung.  
She was the wonder of all mortal men,  
Few Queens came near her, & none went above,  
In grace and goodness, since, before, or then.   

Might once no minion dare to kiss her glove  
(Much less her hand) or Mistress her miscall;  
As men are wont, when they for fashion love.  
So modest was she, and so meek withal,  
That all good folks might to her Presence come  
No less then to some Councillors common Hall.  
More doth the suitor than the gaudy room,  
Set out a Monarch's Majesty, by odds,  
When life or death he looks for at his doom.   

Not they that graved the gold did make the gods,  
But such as did before them bow to beg,  
All were they made of clay but only clods:  
Nor they the Prince that still provoke and egg,  
(That only they may golden I dolls be  
To which the subject bends his servile leg)  
The sacred and anointed Majesty  
To rob the realm, to gain the subjects wealth,  
And lose their hearts; But such as on the knee  
Importune grace with happiness and health,  
Not posted off to those extreme delays  
Of bribing favourites, which is worse than stealth,  
And scarce was heard of in those happy days.   

Herself a widow, would for widows plead  
With much compassion, and at all assays,  
But as for Orphans bills, them would she read,  
And then shut in her princely Orphan's hand,  
Whereby along with her she would him lead  
Unto his Uncle that did rule the land:  
Hard were the heart, that in so just a cause,  
With two such suitors upon terms could stand,  
And not dispense a little with the laws.   

Thus with her great delight in doing good,  
She wan such fame and popular applause,  
That on a time the goddess of the wood  
Diana sorely longed once to see  
This ●● street model of all womanhood,  
And next herself the flower of chastity.  
Wherefore the (Sun now scorching in the skull  
Of L●o) forth a hunting needs would she  
To Windesore forest, which she found as full  
Of dear, as trees: yet trees so many are,  
As there the darts of Phoebus are too dull;  
And pierce no more than doth the meanest star.  
There was the Laurel that was glad to hide  
Her green head from the face of Phoebus far,  
The I ordly Oak that scorned not by his side  
The bragging Brier, and with wild ivy was  
Like great God Bacchus crowned, there was, beside  
The smoothskinned Beech all carved as did pass,  
In curious knots that did the names entwine  
Of many a Lover, and of many a Lass.  
There was the Elm that underprops the Vine,  
And Box, whereof poor shepherds frame their pipes,  
The gentle Wood bind, and sweet Eglantine,  
Each other clipping with their amorous gripes.  
The budded Hawthorn, and our London dames  
Holy-reformers: the Birch lacing stripes  
On lazy truands, with such like, whose names  
I know not, save the Willow that did guirde  
The banks forsaken of the slippery Thames.   

On every tree did sit a several bird,  
And every bird did sing his several note:  
This to the base a fifth, that sung a third,  
Each one according to his airy throat.  
A Summer's day me thinks were nothing long  
With the rare Music which they made by rote:  
Phoebe herself with all her Nymphs did throng  
To hear it, as she had not heavenly been:  
And this was all the burden of their Song,  
Long live Diana and fair Katherene.   

Wearied with toil, but never with the noise,  
High time she thought to go and see the Queen,  
For her declining brother, that enjoys  
One part in one of her three-formed realms,  
Bade her break up those sports and earthly joys,  
Sith he must never quench his thirsty beams,  
Till she to heaven return and take his place  
To govern there the stars, and here the streams.   

She therefore to the Castle 'gan to pace  
That bounteously was built of fair freestone,  
Whose guilded inside, for the greater grace,  
Was all set out with many a precious one,  
And they with one that yet more precious was:  
The crystal windows round about it shone,  
That as she stood therein the very glass  
Seemed rather to let out the lusty light.   

On did the goddess with her meany pass,  
Till they came to a room all richly dight,  
Of heavenly bliss and happiness the bower,  
Where each of other had this happy sight.  
The place was after called the maidens tower,  
But of Diana and her Maids no doubt  
So called was, and is unto this hour.   

Much the amazed goddess looked about,  
But most atoned at the Queen she stood,  
That ready word she could bring hardly out,  
Before the lovely Queen, (who could more good  
Then half a world) did silence softly break,  
Each Lily blending with a Rose of blood.  
Madam (she said) my tongue can hardly speak  
That world of worth which I in you admire:  
Then all that I can do is far too weak  
To answer your desert and my desire:  
For since my Lord, my life, (God his soul save)  
Was laid (as well may witness my attire)  
My better half since he was laid in grave,  
I never yet came forth in company;  
But in my chamber myself buried have.  
Wherefore, if person here, or aught there be,  
That unto you may breed the least offence,  
God knows it is without my privity:  
But did I know, I soon should rid him hence,  
That of this action is not humbly glad,  
And therewithal, they both low reverence  
Did one another. Up the while was had  
A Banquet to a by room as did pass,  
Bisket-bread, Sucket, Marchpane, Marmalade,  
Candids, Conserves, and all that dainty was:  
It hailed down comfects, and through every spoutt  
The Sugar-Castles powered out hippocras  
Walked up and down the boles, so as I doubt  
If I may call them standing cups or no.   

And as the wine, so went the day about.  
Diana rose, and ready was to go,  
When in an other cup of massy gold  
They crowned her wine that sparkled to and fro.   

It was the king Confessors Cup of old,  
Who lived a married man, and died a maid.  
She kissed the cup, where graven, she might behold  
Actaeon's death, and down it quickly laid,  
Then turned a little to her maids aside,  
Rebuked their want of secrecy, and said.   

Could ye no better your own counsels hide,  
But over England too it must be blazed?  
Lo here, Actaeon in his horned hide  
While on our shame and nakedness he gazed,  
Therewith she pawzed, but they no word could say,  
So were they at that lively map amazed.  
And sure the cup did all so well display,  
As if it white wine were that therein stood.  
Then would ye swear Diana's self there by,  
Nakedly clothed with the crystal flood.  
And were it red, there lay then would ye swears,  
Actaeon bathing him in his own blood.  
At last, as one that half abashed were,  
Unto the Queen she turned and uttered this.   

Alack, alack, if his own hounds did tear  
This fond Actaeon, yet the fault was his,  
And mine the grief: we gods are no less sorry  
For mortals punishments, then for their amiss,  
Though we, by this, and that, declare our glory,  
And our own justice in them both exalt:  
Yet some will say (and they too peremptory)  
That this his fortune was, and not his fault:  
Was't not his fault so to profane a place,  
That hallowed was with frankincense and salt?  
Were't not his fault that should surprise your grace  
Here in your chamber, scare you or your train,  
And from your side your surest servants race?  
Abortive fancies swim about his brain,  
And fail him when himself he most assures:  
Run all his plots and purposes in vain,  
That shall the like attempts on you or yours.   

Thus ended she, and with this speech the day.  
On stole the night, that parting still procures,  
As though it came to bid her come away,  
Then took she leave, and in her coach did climb,  
The Eastern hill with horses iron grey,  
Where in slow minutes she must tell the time,  
And serve the use of man. God bade her so.  
When neither Cock doth crow, nor Clock doth chime,  
Whether we see her silver face or no,  
Yet there she walks, as well by day as night,  
And still about her crystal or be doth go.   

But (lord) with what a longing and delight  
To Windsor ward she down would cast her look,  
And gild the wide Thames with her trembling light.  
another heaven ye would have thought the brook  
With Moon and Stars, and here and there a cloud:  
But in high heaven what way so ere she took,  
Queen Katherine's praises there she rung aloud,  
Set to the tune of her well tempered sphere,  
Much more harmonious than is harp and crowd.   

Hermes, that all the ghosts below can rear,  
And gently usher with his snaky rod,  
To this new carol gave ' attentive ear:  
And (as he is a very prating god)  
To the bright Venus hath it told anon  
From the first point to the last period.  
When she in all the haste would needs be gone  
To see below, what all had heard above,  
Of England's Queen and peerless paragon:  
Her Coach was drawn by many a turtle-dove,  
And driven by a coachman of great worth,  
Her little son, the mighty god of love.   

So long he guided on his course by North,  
When having past the seventh and utmost clime,  
Out of the sea he might see peeping forth  
A spot of Earth as white as any lime:  
To which he thought it best his course to hold.   

Now was the Earth, for it was passed the prime,  
That had unmasked her of her tawny old,  
revested with a flowery diadem,  
And new green velvet, spangled all with gold.  
Thus were the fields enameled all of them,  
Along the silver Thames that did embrace  
The golden meads in wanton arms, and hem  
Their loser skitts like an indented lace.  
Acrosle, and up and down the river swam  
Her sacred swans, who when they saw her Grace,  
Unto her Coach to do their homage came:  
And from the land came Turtles many a pair,  
Unto her Deity who did the same.   

Then Cytherea seeing them so repair  
Bespoke, Sir boy, we sure be gone amiss:  
(But yet, the best is this, the way was fair)  
Nay doubtless, that no way to Windsor is,  
But to our palace in mount C●theron.  
And Cupid he was sore afraid by this  
Lest it were so indeed, when (having gone  
A little further) he might plainly see  
Where with his eye a castle met anon  
High on a hill (as though it scorned to be  
Built on the base earth) and towered above  
The lofty clouds, with such a Majesty,  
As said it could not be the Court of love.  
How often have you seen together dwell  
The lordly Eagle and the lowly Dove,  
Or Love and Majesty concording well?   

By this, they to the castle-gate be come,  
That was shut in by warning of a bell,  
In every room yet stirring heard they some,  
Which made them loudly call, and loudly knock,  
Yet none, no more than if they had been dumb,  
Would answer them; a long hour by the clock,  
They waited there; now he, now she, now both:  
Cupid at last did peep in at the lock,  
Yet no man came; Then Venus waxed wroth,  
And since of force she must her purpose miss  
To be revenged she took a solemn oath  
And said. Much worship have we won iwis,  
If thus one silly woman may abuse  
Two such great Godheads; if we suffer this,  
What wretch I pray you may not well refuse  
To burn on our high altars his perfumes,  
And by this precedent the fact excuse?  
Whether she on our gentleness presumes,  
Or her own greatness, all is one for that,  
I shall ere long so pull her peacocks plumes,  
That though she now be young and fair and fat)  
She shall no sooner look upon a glass  
But she shall grieve and sore repine thereat,  
And say, That now is hay was sometimes grass.  
Thinks she to scape our hands so frank and free,  
That she forsooth of France the daughter was,  
England's fresh bride, and thereby chanced to be  
Mother to him that now is King of both?  
Alas, what's all this to a Deity?  
No more but titles and mere toys in troth,  
As than she hath deserved, so shall she have,  
" Divine revenge comes sure, though late and loath.   

Belike these giddy French think they may brave  
My son and me at pleasure, leave undone  
What at their hands most lawfully we crave,  
Or do all lawless outrage under Sun.  
They make but cu'n a Woman and a child  
Of me and thee, and thereby think to shun  
Our vengeance, this it is to be so mild  
To malefactors, that for very spite  
Our Temples and our Altars have defiled,  
Left unprofaned no religious rite,  
But havoc made of holy maidenhead,  
As if the Charge we had renounced quite  
That appertaineth to the Bridal bed:  
Wherein the lawful heir begotten is,  
Whom after nine months fully finished,  
The shamefaced father shall not fear to kiss  
At midnight to him by the Midwife borne,  
Yea he himself will swear it to be his,  
When Lucifer lets forth the blushy Morn.  
But if they still my patience thus shall wrong  
By S. Adonis here lo have I sworn,  
And will not fail, I shall, ere it ●e long,  
A plague send on them that will quickly tame  
Their pride, and teach them sing another song.  
It shall feed in their marrow like a flame,  
And rage through every corner of the land,  
That of the nation it shall take the name.   

But to the point that now we have in hand.  
Which to effect with more successful speed,  
Son Cupid, you awhile my friend must stand.  
Mother (quoth he) to fear you shall not need,  
For I have still been your obsequious son,  
And still will be, in thought, and word, and deed.  
Yet hold I not this dame so much, a Nun  
By nature, as by virtue of the clime  
Is far removed Northward from the Sun.  
For she hath loved, and so may do in time.  
The bird that having once escaped the net,  
Defies the fowler, may be caught by lime  
Or other engines that for him be set,  
And so may she by some more acquaint devise,  
But what that is, myself knows scarcely yet)  
Maugre her heart all were it made of ice.   

Gramercy son, quoth he, why then no doubt  
(Though she were ten times more than she is nice)  
This act we shall bring well enough about.  
But that I fear me which you lately told  
About the Climate all this Isle throughout,  
Is all the let that ever happen could,  
For though the Sun now in the Lion reign,  
And his Meridian, yet an uncouth cold  
Me thinks doth hit me now through every vain.  
In Africa if the Lion list to rage,  
Who shall him from his ladies side restrain?  
Yet here he sleepeth out his idle age,  
And dreams not once of Nature's kindly sport.  
Were it not this, what grate or iron cage  
Could coop him from his pleasure? To be short,  
The Vine that with the scorching sun by noon,  
Grows quickly ripe in France, if you transport  
Into this Country, ripeneth not so soon:  
Yet is the soil as thankful here as there.  
Yea th'Elements, all underneath the Moon,  
Removed from their own place, some otherwhere,  
Take new impressions to them, for the fire  
That only shines in his celestial sphere  
Here burns most violent. And with desire  
Said Cupid, shall this Saint, this Katherine  
In Windshore burn whom he did so admire,  
The man of Monmouth when she did but shine  
In France at Melaws, like a blazing star:  
Whose fair aspect and influence divine,  
Did stop the hoarse and open throat of war.   

As there great Henry fell in love with her,  
here of another shall she dote as far,  
Except my cunning, or this hand do err:  
And that rich dower, yea were it ten times more,  
Upon a subject shall I soon confer.   

What, on a Saxon Cupid, will ye so?  
Now by this Mole (quoth she) upon my cheek,  
I rather had this high revenge forego  
Which I on her so thirstingly do seek,  
Then any flinty Saxon should succeed  
A Prince so mighty, and a Prince so meek.  
These Saxons clean have washed away my seed,  
Swallowing the fat soil like another flood.  
Those sturdy Saxons whom the stones did breed,  
Which Pyrrha (when yet all the earth was mud)  
By devilish divination backward threw  
To take the form of flesh, and bones, and blood.  
These men, these stones, at an advantage slew  
Of thy poor kindred thousands with the sword,  
And all the woeful remnant did pursue  
To the bare Mountains, that could scarce afford  
Food for themselves, or safety from the foe,  
Foully entreating them indeed and word.  
Long were they torn and tossed thus to and fro,  
Now foiling, and then foiled, till at the last  
Edward the first (their fates ordaining so)  
To make them subject to his Crown did cast.  
His tender babe to be their Prince they took,  
To whose succeeding heirs they stuck so fast,  
As none of them their faith as yet forsook,  
Save only one Owen surnamed Glyndoore,  
Who became Rebel against Bullinbrooke,  
And by his pride made all his Country poor.  
Ah Harry why shouldst thou a Civil Prince  
For one man's fault and fury play the Moor  
Or Tartar thus, and tax a whole Province  
With such uncourteous and Barbarian laws  
As never heard were of before, or since?  
If jove alas, as oft as men give cause  
Did every time but hurl a fiery ball,  
A little time than should he have to pause,  
And in a while himself leave none at all.   

For all yet that betid them could, or can,  
Here lives one still, and still I hope he shall,  
A gallant and resolved gentleman,  
Fair Owen Tudyr, fire thou her in love  
With him, my boy. Mother (said he) your Swan  
Shall not exceed this Eagle, nor your Dove:  
Hereafter shall she stoop so to the lure,  
Though now a while the clouds she tower above,  
For her pure bosom with a brand as pure  
I will so kindle yet before the sun  
Get out of Libra, that none may recure  
Her heart, but only Owen. Well said son,  
(Him answered she) why should I then despair?  
But (as one Owen hath us all undone)  
Another Owen may those harms repair.  
For who doth know, but that in time to come,  
There may spring from this well consorted pair may  
(I will so bless and fructify her womb)  
H. 7. That seven times happy man, who one day  
Sat on this throne, and thence with mercy doom  
His and my people? O when will that day  
Shine from the East upon this Northern Clime?  
Then, then may well both Welsh and English say,  
That they were borne in a most blessed time.   

Mother, quoth he, thereof mine be the care,  
And if I fail therein, mine be the crime:  
But sith the court of heaven can hardly spare  
Us both at once, this cause to me refer,  
Perhaps the Gods in no such business are,  
Yet mortals are. How shall the Mariner  
That long in the wide Ocean tossed is,  
And nothing sees save sea and heaven, but ere  
When your propitious star he there doth miss?  
How shall the shepherd do, that to the hill  
Leads forth his flock, and home again by this?  
How shall the struggling Bride against her will,  
With her impatient love this night conceive,  
Unless your gracious influence do fill  
Her fruitful lap? God's must not therefore leave  
To help and comfort mortal men, because  
Of their due honour they the Gods bereave.   

This said, he stayed, and with this only clause  
She condescended, that all should be done,  
As that herself thereto her best applause  
Should give, and that as soon too as the sun  
A judge between the night and day became.   

O silly Queen! these snares how canst thou shun?  
And how, O Venus (hadst thou any shame?)  
Canst thou but blush what have ye reaped by this,  
Thou and thy son, what great and glorious name,  
When by two Gods beguiled one Woman is?   

A month and more to make the Queen his slave  
He sought by all such trains and tricks of his  
As know ye lovers (God from them me save)  
By dreams and fancies whilst a-bed she lay:  
So wisely though herself she did behave,  
That once he thought it best to run away.   

By this the golden Eye of heaven the Sun,  
From that disastrous and midnight of day  
Wherein his clue of life was clean out spun,  
Henry the first in fame, in name the fifth,  
About the silver scarf of heaven had run.   

Whose fiery Coursers (howsoever swift  
To some glad hearts) seem to the sorry slow  
And dull as lead, than first the Queen did lift  
Her drooping Eyliddes from the Earth below.  
As one that having hoarded up his chief  
His only treasure, still his eye doth throw  
Back to the place as to his best relief;  
So was the Queen and all the Court to gloze  
The more with her did flatter this her grief:  
For like the Prince the people them compose.   

Moved for their sakes, God wot, more than her own,  
The Dowager Queen (like to the Virgin Rose  
That all night is bedewed, and newly blown  
Unto the morning Sun for comfort seeks)  
Those purer Roses wiping that were sown  
Among the Lilies in her lovely cheeks;  
And with her tears bedewed day and night  
By the full space of two and fifty weeks,  
Resolved at last to come by candlelight  
Into the Presence chamber, and to glad  
Her heart a little with the people's sight,  
Who to see her again were nothing sad.  
For all the lusty Courtiers did devise  
(So soon as notice of her mind was had)  
To entertain her with some strange disguise,  
Done by Dan Lidgate a great learned Monk,  
Who then in Poesy bore away the prize;  
For after Chaucer had he deeply drunk  
Of Helicon, as few beside have yet.   

Now when the Sun into the Sea was sunk,  
They all together in the Wardrobe met,  
And them among (though far above them all)  
The gentle Owen was, a man well set:  
Broad were his shoulders, though his waste but small;  
Strait was his back, and even was his breast,  
Which no less seemly made him show, then tall.  
Such as Achilles seemed among the rest  
Of all his army clad in mighty brass:  
Among them such (though all they of the best)  
The man of Moon magnific Owen was.  
He seemed an other Oak among the Breers:  
And as in stature, so did he surpas  
In wit, and active feats, his other peers.  
He nimbly could discourse, and nimbly dance,  
And aged he was about some thirty years:  
But armed had ye seen him go to France,  
Ye would have said, that few on foot or horse  
Could have so tossed a Pike, or couched a Lance,  
Wherewith to ground he brought full many a corpse.  
That oft alone when I recount the same,  
My tender heart cannot but have remorse.  
To write it then, alas, I were too blame:  
Of only Love, and of his arms I sing,  
Thy wars (O Mars) I meant not once to name,  
Yet hardly could I spare that haughty string,  
Did not the Boy mine ear pull now and then  
Beyond my bounds for fear I chance to fling.  
The fame and splendour of my Countrymen  
Invite me so. What is he that can hold  
In his rude fingers such a flaggy pen,  
If aught by chance of Agincourt be told,  
But into tears his eyes would quickly thaw,  
In stead of ink, to write the manifold  
And goodly slaughters which our men did draw  
That day in blood ' But O thou mighty ghost  
Of Henry Monmouth, who yet holds in awe  
My bolder Ditty that so longs to boast  
Those old Heroês crowned with holy bays,  
That under him did use to lead his host;  
Beaufort's, Vere's, Neuills, Talbots, Cliffords, Gray's:  
O pardon thou, and they that I leave out  
Th' immortal mortal fights and bloody frays  
By force of arms there fairly brought about.   

And thou john Huntingdon, whose acts I more  
Admire than all, before whose face the rout  
Of fearful Normans, when thou cam'st ashore  
From the triumphed Ocean fled away  
As heartless Hares the Greyhounds do before▪  
Redoubted Earl, of pardon I thee pray.  
God wot I would, yet half so great a task  
I dare not undertake: and sooth to say,  
That argument a louder Trump doth ask.  
To sound a March too slender is my Reed,  
Enough is it to tune a Courtly mask,  
Then to high purpose and the point proceed.   

While they made ready there, ye might have seen,  
One or an other in a masking weed,  
Go frisk about upon the rushes green,  
And wish if aught he chanced well to do,  
That all were done no worse before the Queen.   

Some one the God of Love did pray unto,  
With his mild mother, so to stand his friend,  
As he thereby his Lady's love might woe,  
To whose sweet praise his pains he did commend.  
Another, that he might good honours make  
As every Measure did begin or end  
Whereof his Mistress might due notice take.  
One that the dropping links defiled him not  
For his white suit of costly satin sake:  
An other that his Imprease or his Mot,  
Or aught of his the Princess mind might please.   

Full many a suit in broken sighs, God wot,  
Was offered there, yet all could not appease  
His kindled ire, who by this easy bait  
Thought now or never on the Queen to seize  
That had so often made him sound retreat.   

It fell that four and twenty Pages were  
Appointed on the Revellers to wait,  
Who two by two, before each pair should bear,  
The links aloft, and for the greater show,  
Like suits to them and vizards also wear.   

The wily god that all this did foreknow,  
By putting on the person of a page,  
Made up the count, his quiver and his bow  
To buy a vizard which he laid to gauge;  
But turned into a blazing torch his brand.  
A pretty stripling, much about the age  
Of fourteen years he seemed when he did stand  
Among the rest. Now was it time to sup:  
So costly nothing was by sea or land  
But it was had, while still the frothy Cup  
Did haste to deal about the lusty wine.   

When all was ended, and the board was up,  
In heaven above the stars began to shine:  
Where also burned Cithere the bright,  
To Cupid nodding, who knew well the sign.  
And like an other heaven with starry light,  
Adorned was all the Presence round about,  
That into day again did turn the night,  
Although the chiefest light was yet without.   

With this the trumpets lo began to sound,  
And eke the multitude aloud to shout,  
(That all the room did e'en again rebound,  
Reecchoing no particle amiss)  
God save your Grace, & God your foes confound.   

To some her hand of snow she gave to kiss,  
She talked with other, and gave thanks to all,  
Along the chamber as the manner is.   

Behold how many fiery sparkles small,  
The Moon about her silver or be doth spend,  
When Hesperus the Evening forth doth call:  
So many glorious ladies glad to tend  
Upon the Queen unto her princely State,  
Down to the ground before her Grace did bend.   

As there in Majesty awhile she Sat  
With shame faced looks low fixed upon the ground  
Lo three fair damsels fallen at foul debate,  
And them before a Trumpet hard to sound.  
The Damsels dressed in white and blue and black  
Were asked, whence they were, and whither bound?  
Whom they did look for, or what they did lack?   

A while they paused, and oft they changed hue,  
The one still to the other looking back,  
Till she, that all apparelled was in blue  
Stepped forth at last, and making Curtsy low  
Began aloud. Most Mighty Queen, to you  
In humble manner we present this show  
A silly Maid, a Widow, and a Wife,  
As by our habits you may partly know.  
A late between us happened heavy strife,  
Whether the Wife, the Widow, or the Maid  
lives the most happy and contented life?   

All what we could, we three therein have said,  
And women (as men clatter) want no words.  
Yet here (alas) the matter hath not staid,  
For acted it must needs be by the swords  
Of Martialists, but your Majestic hand,  
That unto miser's mercy still affords,  
The same by your authority with stand;  
Which is so sovereign, and doth carry weight  
With all the mighty Spirits of the land,  
That ended all this stir will here be straight.   

Eight hardy Squires do hold of Maidenhead,  
(Whereof is Owen Tudyr chief) and eight  
Maintain that it much better is to wed,  
The last eight by like arguments approve  
The life sequestered from the nuptial bed.   

Renowned Empress, then let pity move  
Your royal breast to save them from the spoil,  
What heart of iron hath she that doth love  
To see one man in fight an other soil?  
Or once abide to see the blood to stream  
That in the manly bosom wonts to boil?   

here at, as one awaked out of a dream,  
The softly sighing Queen up started soon,  
Guilding the world with such a glorious Beam  
As doth the Sun this Hemisphere by noon,  
With morning showers though somewhat overspread:  
Or, as when in some misty night the Moon  
Breaks through the clouds, and shows her silver head.   

And thus she spoke. Ye virtuous Maid and Wife,  
(For such ye seem) and thou whose half is dead,  
Whose other half resolves to lead the life  
That also doth thy Queen; not all this I'll  
A fitter one could yield to stint your strife,  
Extended out though it lie many a mile,  
And, but the Sea, abides not any bound.  
For all three courses have I known awhile.  
A very Maid of me King Henry found,  
(Whose soul God pardon, and to mercy take)  
To whom my love my faith kept ever sound,  
That all the world my honour might not shake,  
Ne wrack my fame against so foul a shelf.  
As unto him, so for his only sake  
I will remain no less true to myself:  
For Henry's Wife and Widow will I die.  
Honours, vain pleasures, transitory pelf,  
I force not of such gauds a whit, not I:  
Yet doth this trash the minds of many tempt  
To loves delights, from whose vile tyranny  
Princes, no more than other, are exempt.  
But only him I loved, so do I now,  
And ever shall, of whom both thought and dreamt  
I have so oft, that no man else may bow  
My settled heart: only (were he alive)  
He might perhaps prevail against my vow.   

And God I beg it now, so let me thrive,  
If aught I speak the world's good word to woe  
Beyond my worth, but with his thunder drive  
Me quick those ugly shades of hell into,  
Before, O shamefastness, that I forsake  
Thee, or yet any law of thine undo.   

Might I with me my little Henry take  
To some remote and solitary den;  
Your noble Prince, his servant God him make,  
(Whereto the people cried Amen, Amen)  
I could be well content no more to come  
Among the press and multitudes of men.  
Not that I doubt but virtuous there be some,  
I know there be, and many in this place.  
This of my speech then is the very sum;  
That oft alone when I recount my case,  
No life me thinks is like to widowhood,  
So God but guide it with his holy grace.   

hereat the Maid and Wife atoned stood.  
Mistake me not, quoth then the lovely Queen,  
For often hath it been no less a good  
To marry well, then to live singly seen.  
Perhaps the more, if heart as well as hands  
Be rightly tied the married pair between:  
Not altogether wedded unto lands,  
Ne wealthy dowres: ah, never may she thrive,  
That on the purse above the party stands.  
She that so weds (as I know none that did)  
Beguiles her husband, he hath but the hive,  
Another eats the honey. God forbid  
That ever any courtly Dame should carry  
A heart so base within her bosom hid.  
As for myself, had I not loved my Harry,  
pardie I make a vow, that for my part  
No kingdom could have tempted me to marry  
Against the love and liking of my heart.   

But ah, not long had I enjoyed my joy  
When ugly Death comes stealing with his dart,  
(For hand of man could never him annoy)  
And him of life, and me of love deprives.  
Yet hath he left behind a princely boy,  
That in my breast his heavenly shape revives.  
So like the father doth he daily grow,  
As any you have seen in all your lives,  
Yea like him he already learns to go▪  
So would he bend the brow, so would he look,  
His eyes his hands, he cast he carried so.   

But whither have I like a wandering brook  
Thus erred by love? Few liquid pearls than gushed  
From out her eyes, and there her breath she took.  
But (Lord) than how the lovely Virgin blushed,  
When all the people did the Queen pursue  
With fresh applauses; till, when all was hushed,  
The Queen did her continued speech renew.   

Ladies it seems (and therewithal she sat)  
It seems I say to us, that each of you  
So pleased is with her peculiar state,  
That all the world may not your wills reclaim.  
Me liefer also wear your love then hate,  
Whereat no virtuous Prince did ever aim.  
Tyranny fear, and fear this hate begot.  
What duty then can want a privy maim  
That of the subjects love proceedeth not?  
I then conclude, no kind of life amiss  
That is so fixed, and altars not a jot:  
Unhappy most, the least resolved is,  
When as the great Commander in the wars  
Affects the merchants life, the Merchant his,  
Who knows each crooked motion of the stars,  
The Clerk again envies the Courtier,  
And he the Clown. To leave particulars  
In us, and you, (for oft thus one may err)  
I must (I hope to none of your disgrace)  
Together when all courses I confer,  
Of force define, that both resign the place  
To maidenhead, as Copper doth, or Brass,  
When India Gold their glory doth deface.   

A worthy wife no doubt Susanna was,  
Redeemed from death, as she was thereto led:  
Yet did the widow judith her surpass;  
Who smote off, as he breathed his last a-bed,  
That horrid head, yet breathing war and lust.   

But unto MARY well of Maidenhead,  
This, and that other yield of duty must.  
The Maid where three times three months did repose  
The Sun, in whom reposed is all my trust.   

A virgin is but e'en a very Rose,  
For once if hand of man thereon be laid,  
Both sent and colour it will quickly lose,  
So tender in the bloom is every Maid.   

That innocent and ever happy state  
(Had our forefathers not so fond strayed)  
Wherein God human nature did create  
In holy maidenhead resembled is,  
Whence having fallen too soon, we grieve too late:  
When all the world doth point at our amis,  
Then see we naked shame with open eyes.   

Yea maidenhead goes far beyond all this.  
For in that earthly place of paradise,  
As here we do, they did by God's behest:  
But in that heaven where his own owner lies,  
As are his Angels, such are all the rest;  
Maids and unmarried: here than I conclude  
That Maidenhead of all is only best.  
And as she said, so said the multitude.   

Then all three Ladies (who did now relent  
And pardon ask that they had been so rude)  
Besought the night in sports might now be spent,  
Whom so to do with many thanks she prayed.   

So they unto the four and twenty sent  
To certify them what the Queen had said,  
And therewithal to bid them haste away.  
The messenger so did, and they obeyed.   

Alack for pity now what shall I say?  
A wily traitor and a very thief,  
That all the while in ambush closely lay,  
Among the Maskers is become the chief:  
And to the Castle is already come,  
Good Queen, I fear me to thy further grief.   

Herewith was heard the Trumpet and the Drum,  
As if they had been marching for the field:  
By two and two they entered all and some  
Each after other offering up his shield,  
While she, that in all curtsy did abound,  
To every man particular thanks did yield.   

The softer music than began to sound,  
And eke the Ladies were had out to dance:  
It also pleased the Queen to walk a round,  
The Courtly sports the more to countenance,  
With whom (because he did the Measures lead)  
To couple it was Owen's happy chance.   

Then all in order 'gan it softly tread  
Up and down, in and out: the planets seven,  
Rapt with harmonious spheres (as we may read)  
So dance about the lofty pole of heaven.   

The Measures ended, it grew very late,  
(For it was half an hour nigh past eleven.)  
Then bade the Queen, that one below the State,  
A stool for her should set upon the ground:  
This done, anon down thereupon she sat,   

Some in their cinqueapase did nimbly bound,  
Some did the Cros-point, some high Capers cut,  
And on the toe some other turned round,  
While still the Minstrel on the trembling gut,  
strove with division to outrun the time  
That hasted on the Revels up to shut,  
(For midnight now the clock began to chime.)  
Then issued Owen out among the rest,  
Reserved until then as only prime  
Of all the Maskers, and the very best.   

LOVE that did all the while no wile forsloe,  
That holp to set afire her snowy breast,  
Resolved at last, that it must needs be so.   

Wherefore, as Owen did his galliard dance,  
And graced it with a turn upon the toe;  
(Whether his eyes aside he chanced to glance,  
And like the lovely God became so blind,  
Or else perhaps it were his happy chance,  
I know not, and record none can I find)  
This is the short; The Queen being very nigh,  
He fell, and (as he forward down declined)  
His knee did hit against her softer thigh.  
I hope he felt no great hurt by the fall,  
That happy fall which mounted him so high.  
For up he quickly sprang, and therewithal  
He fetched me such a frisk above the ground,  
That, O well done, cried out both great and small.   

The Queen arose then, and dealt thanks around  
To all of them, but unto Owen most:  
The Trumpets also they began to sound,  
For on she passed, and after her an host  
Of lovely ladies, while the people prayed,  
That God would guide her with his holy ghost.   

Thus all the Court was very well apaid,  
And every dancer in delight did swim,  
But Owen only, who was so dismayed,  
That all the Company came to comfort him.  
Amongst all, one wished it had been his hap:  
I can not blame him, though he lost a limb,  
That longed to pitch in such a princely lap.   

But out alas, what shall there more be said?  
This was but e'en an engine and a trap,  
That for the silly foul was lately laid:  
The fairest foul I ween that ever was,  
This only trick so foully hath betrayed.   

As into some one centre of the glass  
The Sunny beams we do contract to light  
Divine Tobacco, that all balm doth pass,  
Because all union hath the greater might:  
So fierce Cupid caused his fiery brand  
Upon that Eagle-eye of his to light;  
That in the very turning of a hand,  
Reflected it might set afire her heart,  
That obstacles none might it once withstand.   

The wound did at the first not greatly smart,  
For it was inward, and there softly bled  
Feeding the fire, till (having got apart)  
Her ivory body laid in ivory bed,  
She there afresh of all began to think  
(For idle fancies there be soon fed)  
And unawares let Love in softly sink  
Between the lilies of her lovely breast.   

What should she do? she could not sleep a wink,  
Nor any respite take, nor any rest,  
Nor once but dream (for how can one awake?)  
That in was got such an unruly guest.  
Which on the god's behalf did greatly make.   

It was the very dead of drowsy night,  
When every creature else his ease did take  
But only young Queen Katherine the bright,  
Whose eyes (like two fair Diamonds set in rings,)  
Awaked her outward little world to light.  
For ugly night with her broad Raven-wings  
Had overhild the golden goodly face,  
As well of heavenly as of earthly things,  
And the dull humour powered down apace  
On weary miserable mortal men:  
Lo, then began her eyes first to embrace  
An easy slumber: her devotions than  
She softly sighed, and Requiem also said,  
For her dear Lord; thus (having breathed Amen,  
And softer check upon soft pillow laid)  
Fell fast asleep: who then but Cupid sung?  
Who laughed, who danced, or half such herod's played?  
For here and there the fire about he flung,  
As did in Aetna his supposed Sire:  
That where before she was but only stung  
A little in the fancy with desire,  
And quickly might have cured the same again  
(Had she but used the means:) his raging fire  
Diffused the venom now through every vain.   

As Elementar fire doth closely creep  
Between some planks the greater height to gain,  
Not daring out of his blind Cell to peep,  
Before alas (as oft it doth befall)  
The goodman of the house be fast asleep:  
Then opposition finding none at all,  
About the Noon of night invades the sparres,  
And many hundred thousand sparkles small,  
About the welkin hurls to mock the stars:  
At last in smoky flames it chokes the skies,  
And of the building all the beauty mars,  
Or once the Owner half can open his eyes.   

O mercy God, O Love, O Charity,  
What is this heat, or how doth it arise?  
Is it begot but of a wanton eye,  
And so conceived in a gentle heart?  
If it be so, then ask I reason why?  
Thyself, O Love, of eyes deprived art▪   

But if by fatal revolution  
Of any star, O god thou guide thy dart  
(Sith that we know the certain motion  
Of every Star in heaven, both her degree,  
Her opposition, and conjunction,  
With every other hidden quality,  
Portending what is likeliest to befall)  
Reveal, O God, reveal thou unto me  
That am thy Priest (though worthy lest of all)  
So long have I rebelled against thy law,  
Blaspheming it as ceremonial,  
Enacted only fools to keep in awe:  
Yet sith I do recant my folly now  
That into danger youth might haply draw,  
Reveal the reason, and the cause, why thou  
In all thy deeds so diverse ever art;  
And do, I pray, instruct thy Prophet, how  
In every pageant thou dost play thy part,  
Provoking here to love and there to lust.  
● Why should a Lady like with all her heart  
(Her self borne under jove and Venus just)  
A tawny face befurd with sable hair,  
Borne under old Saturnus star combust?   

What appetite the foul hath to the fair  
Is evident, for every seelv soul  
Knows with perfection how things long to pair:  
But that the fair should stoop unto the foul,  
A wonder it doth seem to me no less  
Then if an Eagle should unto an Owl.  
Yet more may be then I can haply guess,  
I might be numbered eighth among the Wise,  
If all to know myself I should profess.   

Is it because that in fair women's eyes  
Black men seem pearls (and women all iwis  
Would be: or else, which doth aswell suffice,  
Reputed fair?) or is it haply this,  
That any beauty laid against the black,  
Of much more beauty and more brightness is?  
Is it because we like (though nought we lack)  
What other have? or else because this hue  
Lends livelier heat and moisture to the back?   

Why should a Queen to whom so many sue,  
So many Princes would be proud to serve,  
Bid all the glittering pomp of Court adieu,  
And to a private love her sweets reserve?  
Why should she spend with him her happy days,  
That hardly doth to serve her but deserve?   

This is thy power, O Love, this is thy praise,  
For unto Gods it only doth belong  
The mighty down to pull, the meek to raise;  
Thou findest likes, or else ere it be long,  
Thou framest such of sundry qualities:  
It is then open and no petty wrong,  
To charge thee so with incongruities:  
For only thou alone in all thy deeds,  
As at the first yet workest by contraries.   

Whenas together all the sundry seeds  
Of undigested Chaos did conspire  
To mould the body that so many breeds:  
The Earth, the Air, the Water and the Fire,  
(For each was unto either deadly foe)  
To sundry ranks did all at once retire:  
The leight got up, the heavy stayed below,  
The Sea did start aside to show the land,  
The winds did on the billows stiffly blove  
All which be now tied in so friendly band,  
As they may not beyond their limits range,  
And this was done by thy Almighty hand.  
Nor art thou Lord (for all thou seem so strange)  
Yet half so mutable as any man:  
But as resolved and unapt to change,  
As at the day when first the world began.   

Perhaps by some to scorn I shall be laughed  
For holding so, say all they what they can,  
This is the truth, thus other shall be taught:  
Yea (though therefore I should be tortured)  
I would not alter any word for aught,  
For all is right, if it be rightly read.   
FINIS.   

Richardo Martino Hugo Hollandius Optimo Oratori Pessimus Poëta, veteris & perfecti amoris ergò nowm sed imperfectum poëma mittit. Sonulus Hendecasyllabi●us.  

HOc Martine tibi vetus sodalis  
Nuper mitto nowm poema coeptum,  
Nec doctum satis id, nimisue ineptum:  
Vester Pegasus est, nec opse talis   

Qui t antis vehar incitatus alis.  
Verùm me videor sat esse adeptum,  
Si carmen tibi tale sit receptum:  
Nec lectum tibi non fuisse malis.   

Quod (si quid saperem) domo quiet â  
Annus debuerat videre nonus:  
O sed famâ ego gloriaque spretâ   

In pessum cecidi poeta pronus;  
" Tanto pessimus omnium poeta,  
" Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus.    

To Sir Robert Cotton Knight, Lord of Cunnington.  
MY Reasons can no longer hold out, nor yet my Modesty: Nature indeed hath armed me against Blushing, not against Bashfulness. Have here them this double imperfect Poem. First, though ill, not all done: Secondly, through all ill done. The faults I confess in making (as they be many) are mine: the fault in setting forth (if it be any) is yours, & so much the more yours, by how much the more you would have mine published. It was (if you remember) the work, or rather the Pastime of one Vacation. Howbeit that can no way justly excuse me. For (if the Destiny of these leaves should out-spin Nature in our lives) how should posterity be informed in how short time the same were written? All the writings of old time were as the Testaments of the writers: But most of the writers of our days, are as Executors to their writings, not unlike Hecuba in the Tragedy, who in her own life time saw the death of all her children. And to say but truth (had not I been the more indulgent father) these Rhymes of mine (which nigh upon two years have now lain by me) had long since made windeing-sheetes for perfumed gloves in the EXCHANGE. The last Summer I began to put this Infant (than about some twelvemonth's old) out of his foul and swatheling clouts; and (like our London Nurses, who when they bring their foster-childrens to be showed the friends, dress them up in their best habiliment) wrote it out curiously with mine own hand, think to have gone into Scotland and to have given it the King. Towards whom my loyalty, I was in those days as daring to power into your bosom, as I found it ready to endear the same. Your love to me, and our duty to him gave us both confidence thereunto: to speak nothing of particular Interest, his Majesty and you descended of two brothers, he from Rob. le Bruse, and you from Bernard. But ill news carried me into Wales, and upon my return Master Secretary Herbert (with whom was in commission the Noble and gentle Lord Ewer, and the right worthy and virtuous Master Doctor Dun) being ready to go into Germany (which was his thirteenth public Employment) I signified to his Honour the desire I had but once in my life to see the world (for until then I had been always one of the Queen's Decree) and he lovingly consented thereunto. Believe me Sir Rob. he is the man I took him for, and told you of. I will not speak of honours and titles, things (like representations in glasses) actuated by other: but rather of his learning, his wisdom, 〈◊〉 honesty, the first and last whereof are goodly Virtues in a man of his Fortune, all three lying within the sphere of our own activity. At Amste●red●● in my way homeward (for I returned before their Lordships) I met those good ill-news of the Queen death, to whose honour and memory (néque me m●●inisse pigebit ELISAE) as by the Preface may appear I had once intended this first book of the preparation or Praeludium of the love between Owen Tudyr and the Queen. Which preface notwithstanding I will have printed with the rest, that I do so much right to that dead Lady, sometimes our Sovereign Queen and Mistress. The very Gospel itself (next which no gladder tidings could have pierced our ears, than that King JAMES his head should be invested with the Royal Diadem) did allow the Law an honourable burial. Neither should we fashion ourselves to such whose affection to her waxed cold before her body, who thought they had done her a stout piece of service that they forsook not her body before her soul did. I judge modestly of them all, and hope it was but a longing they had to see his Majesty, whom God of his mercy long preserve, lest he, who hath freed us from one curse of a Kingdom, that is, a Woman, leave us unto another, that is, a Child. I have written an Acrostic Sonnet to his Majesty, a Canzonet to the Queen, and another Acrostic unto the Prince; whose Servant I am by vow, and subordinate Subject by birth, For I doubt not but his Noble Father will shortly kiss him, and deliver him the Verge of gold with his Patent, whereby he is entitled Prince of Wales. Which (though now high in nothing but Mountains) I hope one day shall be raised by his Grace's presence. In whom we claim a double interest, as well by Walter Stewarte, as Owen Tudyr: both of them lineally descended from the most haught and magnanimous Princes of Wales. My second book (if God spare life) of the entertainment of their love (which I principally vow to the honour of the better part of his Grace's principality my beloved Country gentle North-wales, where by the way I am to speak somewhat of the wars of Owen Glindoure, with the worthy deeds of the two thunderbolts of war, the Noble Percies) ay purpose to consecrate unto his Highness: As also the third book of the perfection of their love unto the Queens Right excellent Majesty. For unto whom should I dedicate the perfection of Love but to the perfection of Beauty? I speak this but by hearsay, you have seen her and know I flatter not: from which fault (if from any) I am most free. For in flattery (saith Tacitus) is the foul fault of Slavery, and freedom of speech will be thought Malice. Howbeit after the fair Example of our good friend M. Martin (who with like liberty, as eloquence was not afraid to tell the King the truth) I will so comport myself and wade warily between both, that I ever carry the heart of a Monarchy, and the tongue of a Commonwealth: the one loyal, the other liberal. In which resolution I end, Commending this Poem to the conceit of the Reader, myself to you, and you to God.  
Your very loving Hugh Holland.