ENGLAND'S WEDDING GARMENT.  
Or A preparation to King JAMES his Royal Coronation.  Aspice venturo laetentur ut omniaseclo.  French fleur-de-lis surmounted by crown 
Imprinted at London for Thomas Pavier. 1603.   

England's wedding garment, or a preparation to King james his Coronation.  

CEase sad laments, King Brutus race,  
Deplore no more your blessed Queen,  
Salute your springtide welcome King,  
She dwells where joys are ever seen.   

When good Eliza lived, her winged  
Fame from earth did mount on high:  
Now she is dead, her heaven-borne soul,  
Is soared aloft above the sky.   

Scarce had the doleful bell rung out,  
Our Queen Eliza's mournful knell,  
But Prince-born james our King proclaimed,  
Our fear soon past, and all was well.   

God save King james, glad English cry,  
Let Scots the like and Irish say,  
His glory shine as beamed sun,  
Whilst starry night succeed day.   

We lost a peerless pearl, but we  
A gem of price have got again,  
Of much more worth than can be found,  
In Golden mine, or Ocean main.   

Spring England still with budding peace,  
For thou art blest with peaceful King,  
God save his Grace, let voices chant,  
Let Trumpets sound, and Bells out ring.   

In Spring of Infant age, Prince james  
Of Scots was crowned their King,  
In Spring of year he comes to us,  
When birds their merry carols sing.   

What doth the springing year presage,  
But that our Spring proclaimed King:  
Will store of sommer-fruites, to us  
Of blissful peace and plenty bring.   

Oh mighty jove, with dazzled eyes,  
We may admire thy works of wonder:  
Our Sun gins to shine, when we  
Dread winter storms and cracks of thunder.   

When fair Eliza died, Apollo  
Couched his golden tressed head:  
When commons cried, God save the King,  
His goldie-lockes abroad he spread.   

As thick as Bees in summer swarm,  
Or Blossoms hang on blooming tree:  
So thick likewise great troops will run,  
Thy royal crowning day to see.   

Eliza whilom was, but now  
King james is England's chiefest joy,  
Ioues winged guard his throne attend,  
And him defend from all annoy.   

What news said one? sad news said some,  
Our Queen is sick, our Queen is dead:  
Alas, said all true English hearts,  
Then England's joy from us is fled.   

But when the bright resplendent sun,  
Had chaste these darksome clouds away,  
We cried aloud, God save our King,  
Oh blessed time, thrice happy day.   

The Red Rose and the White do now,  
And still we hope shall flourish long,  
And rare exploits of Henry's race,  
for ever grace our Britain song.   

The English, Scots, and Irish true,  
Of three are now combined in one,  
Their hearts a true love knot fast knit,  
All former malice now is gone.   

As visage and the phrase of tongue,  
Twixt Scots and English near agree,  
So guider of all hearts, their hearts  
Conjoin, that loyal they may be.   

You rebel Irish rout, sheath up  
Your blades, shed tears, for mercy sue:  
Your graceful King will grant you grace,  
So you to him prove just and true.   

Our friends are glad, our foes now fear,  
The Orphan smile, and widow sing:  
That after sweet Eliza's death,  
We have so wise, so kind a King.   

The Scholar and the Soldier sing,  
The weaned child, the beldame old,  
The City sing, and Country both:  
our ears may hear, our eyes behold.   

Our Gallant Peers, our Court, our Church,  
In sweetest harmony do sing,  
Accenting loud with airy notes,  
God save our wise, and learned King,   

The Scottish Isle doth stream with tears,  
Shed forth for absence of her King,  
The banks of English I'll for joy,  
With Echoes sounding loud shall ring.   

Be glad thou Scottish I'll, thy king  
A mighty Monarch is become,  
For fair Eliza now is dead,  
And he enjoys her Regal room.   

The beams of his reflecting eye,  
Shall beat upon thy Northern coast,  
And if at need thou call his aid,  
Thy King will ride to thee in post.   

Let Spain spite England still, Infanta  
Fume, proud Pope with fury swell,  
Their boasting threats are windy words,  
Their deeds are bred in damned hell.   

The hellish brood of damned crew,  
Whom Babel-Rome with poison fed,  
Did often plot, (but God said no)  
To cut Eliza's vital thread.   

But in despite of Pope and Spain,  
Her houred glass did all out run,  
And she 'gan quietly fall on sleep  
In peace, when her due time was come.   

What traitor plots thou hast escaped,  
My heart doth sigh when tongue doth tell,  
Black poison and the murdering knife,  
Contrived by Hags of darkest hell.   

Thus jove from heaven high did speak,  
Touch not my King, let him alone:  
For he full many years in peace,  
Shall sit upon Eliza's throne.   

The Popish hoped day of glee,  
To them is turned a mourning day:  
God grant their folly they may see,  
And seeing shun their own decay.   

The Pope may fear, his chair doth reel,  
Although he brag with triple crown,  
An English Lion comes ere long,  
By force to pull him headlong down.   

Who doubts that reads thy holy book,  
Composed by heaven inspired skill:  
But that thy Lion tribe the ten—  
Horned beast of Babel-Rome shall kill.   

A patron stout of Christian faith,  
Shall sway the Sceptre of this I'll:  
When he was borne to be our Lord,  
The earth, the sky, and fates did smile.   

This five and forty years, Eliza  
hath our souls with Manna fed,  
Most happy thrice are we, that still  
Shall feed upon this sacred bread.   

Our golden-age is not yet out  
Of date, our God yet love us will,  
His holy arch is not removed,  
His mercy seat is with us still.   

Now welcome King, thy subjects long,  
did wish to see thy princely face,  
That they might cry, as they were wont  
To do, God save your royal grace.   

Thy London streets, thy Caesar tower,  
Thy arched bridge doth Echoes sing,  
And pierce the clouds with crying loud,  
God save, God save our welcome King.   

Now boys and girls, both bond and free,  
With gladsome tongues together say,  
Oh happy we, that live to see,  
King james his royal crowning day.   

Let us applaud with clapping hands,  
And crying loud, God save our King:  
That earth and air for joyful noise,  
with Echoes chanting loud may ring.   

Since thou wert England's King proclaimed,  
When comes the King hath been our song?  
Now we rejoice to see thy face,  
Whom we desired to see so long.   

God bless thy state, thy royal seed,  
Thy Princes-borne & famous Queen;  
jehovah grant all flourish still,  
Like Cedar and the Laurel greene.   

Let pleasant May and summer days,  
Continue still your during-life:  
Let fruitful peace, and plenty great,  
In English, Scottish I'll be rife.   

Of late on shadow we did gaze,  
And that did please our eyesight well,  
But now thy substance we may see,  
What tongue our present joy may tell.   

As thirsty soul desireth drink,  
Or hunger starved some wholesome food,  
So glad are we to greet our King,  
The Anchor hope of England's good.   

And blessed thrice are we by King,  
Who is no child, not aged old,  
But such a one, as can the Helm,  
Of public wealth both guide & hold.   

Cast of your Sable mourning weeds,  
Cease sorrow, sighs, and sobs away,  
Adorn yourselves with colours brave,  
For this is England's bridal day.   

Spare now no cost, let angels fly,  
As Hearaulds of your in-bread joy,  
Our Caesar now to London's come,  
Who will us shield from all annoy.   

English, French, the Dutch, and Tuscan  
Brave, triumph for England's King,  
Let true love set your hearts on fire,  
Prepare rich presents for to bring.   

Bear Olive branches in your hands,  
Adorn your heads with Laurel green:  
Adore your Solomon of peace,  
Such golden days were never seen.   

Let Pageants gay, let gallant shows,  
Show forth your inconceived glee,  
That sovereign Lord, by outward signs,  
Your inward loyal hearts may see.   

Perfume the air with odours sweet,  
Prepare rich unguents for your King,  
Let music sweet sound in your street,  
And voices Halleluiah sing.   

Sound Lute, sound Harp, let Organs sound,  
Your houses deck with rich array:  
Strew paved streets with Roses sweet,  
To beautify King james his day.   

Let snowwhite swans in Thamesis,  
Let birds in cages sweetly sing,  
Let Artistes learn them now to speak,  
That they may say, God save the king.   

Let conduict-pipes gush forth with wine,  
That causeth mirth, and cureth care,  
For Prince of peace is safely come,  
Our foes are sick with deadly fear.   

When royal crown of Maiden Queen,  
Shall circled round thy sacred head,  
Great mirth and joy our hearts shall fill,  
Our grief entombed in Lethean bed.   

The rich rejoice, the poor are glad,  
The young and old with joy abound,  
Because they live to see the day,  
Wherein king james our king is crowned,   

Now milk and honey in our land  
Shall flow, no cause of sorrow found,  
The virgin pure and wedded wife,  
With tongues their hearty joy shall sound.   

Let Angels still support thy throne,  
Let jove protect thee with his wing,  
So mirth our hearts and mouth shall fill,  
Our tongues still Halleluiah sing.   

Tempora foelicis superos concedere vitae  
Regi, Reginae, tum sobilique precor.   
FINIS.