Queen Elizabeth's Tears: OR, Her resolute bearing the Christian Cross, inflicted on her by the persecuting hands of Steven Gardner Bishop of Winchester, in the bloody time of Queen Marie.  
Written By Christopher Lever.  Nocet indulgentia nobis. 
Printed at London by V. S. for Matthew Lownes dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of 〈…〉   

To the right honourable Lord, Robert earl of Salisbury, Viscount Cranborne, Baron of Essingdon, principal Secretary to the Kings most excellent Majesty, Master of the Courts of Wards and Liveries, Chancellor of the most famous University of Cambridge, Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter, and one of his majesties most honourable privy Counsel.  
RIght Honourable Lord; The gracious and well deserving, when they die, leave behind them a reputation that can never die. I instance this in Queen Elizabeth of blessed memory: A Lady beyond example, beautified with the ornaments of Grace and Nature (the two hands of God) whose name (like the air) is spread over all the earth, whereby this our little world (the English nation) is made famous to all posterity. And because I myself have seen many the admirations of her time, & have with many others shared in participation of those blessings which God did give her most gracious and fortunate government; I have therefore (willingly) forced my endeavours to this demonstration of thanks, having ever vowed myself a servant to her Honourable remembrance. The reasons (my good L.) of dedication are these: First, your Lordship's honourable deserving, in being a principal Supporter of the leaning State of learning, the Moecenae and Patron of the learned (in what deserving quality soever:) wherein, (though I be but meanly professed) yet, your lordships zealous regard to the profession I bear, shall ever bind me in the most assured bonds of duty and thankful service. Again, that honourable testimony of your Lordship's regard, even to the very name of your late Sovereign, approved by the general applause and acclamation of all good people: by which act, your Lordship hath proceeded to the highest degree of good opinion, and by giving Honour to her that best deserved it, deservedly made yourself much honoured.  
And therefore (my good Lord) have I ventured on your Lordship's gracious acceptance, humbly requesting your Honour, that my particular (howsoever unworthy, to travail in so honourable an Argument) may (notwithstanding) have gracious acceptation, being presented in the name of Queen Elizabeth, to whose honourable remembrance your Lordship is so much devoted, and to whose name I have principally dedicated this service: beseeching Almighty God to derive upon your Name and House, a perpetual Succession of Honour and good Fortune.  
Your Honours in all duty and humble service. Christopher Lever.   

❧ To the Reader.  
THe name of Queen Elizabeth is sufficient Argument to persuade a friendly acceptation; and from the better disposed (whom I covet principally to please) I shall doubtless receive that reasonable and honest construction. As for those who have their tongues dipped in the poison of Envy, I write not to please them, who will never be pleased with that which is most deserving; It being the nature of Envy, to deprave that, which doth deserve the highest favour of love and good opinion. I may example this in the wrong offered to the name of Queen Elizabeth, who (though she were the most admired of her time) having extraordinary induments, and a government, much more in the degrees of honour and prosperity, than any her Predecessors: yet want there not malicious and base depravers, who (like dogs that bark against the Sun) covet to bite her honourable name, whom God hath made more glorious than the Sun, giving her a place of glory, in fellowship with his holy Angels and Saints. For this double respect have I therefore taken these pains: First to please the well affected, in honouring her whom all that have honesty will honour: Next, in giving Envy and her sons a morsel to bite upon; wishing that all the depravers of her princely name, may either reduce themselves some degree of honesty, or else perish with their envious and evil breath, Accept then (I pray thee) these my voluntary travels; and honour her remembrance, whom all the best in the world do honour with admiration, which thou also wilt do, if thou be'st either honest, or truly English.   

¶ Ad foelicem huius Elizabethae progressum  

LIber in lautam liber ibis urbem:  
Liber in latum liber ibis orbem:  
Liber in laetas liber ibis ulnas.  
urbis & orbis.   

parvus est, hinc non liber, est libellus:  
belus est, hinc non liber, est libellus:  
Duplici prodis titulo Libellus,  
bell libelle.   

Parue, spem magni retinens honoris;  
bell, rem magni retinens decoris,  
Vade, par natae cerebro Mineruae  
nate cerebro.   
I. C.   


Musa crucem cecinit dudum quae carmine Christi,  
AELIZAE varias iam canit illa cruces  
Aelizae qúe cruces crucifixi nomine passas:  
O quam te memorem Virgo, virago, dea,  
O nullus laceret livor LEVERE labores,  
Pergat at in studijs casta minerva pijs.   

The generous Reader, whose free honest soul,  
Did love the honoured subject of thy Book,  
Will for her sake (whose love lives in the roll  
Of dateless Memory) lend a friendly look.  
As others Gardens have bestowed flowers,  
To deck her Garlands, and to strew her hearse;  
So thy grave Muse doth tell her grieved hours,  
And sings her sorrows in a solemn verse:  
That though devouring Time did to bereave her,  
Of Palm and Pity with her foes conspire;  
Yet thy love Lever lets not Honour leave her,  
But by the heat of kind Poetike fire  
reviv'd, giv'st virtue her deserved hire.   
R. K.   

❧ My love to the Argument, and the Author.  
THe times are now malevolent to Verse,  
(To verse that travels in grave Argument,)  
Yet thy grave Muse adorns the sable Hearse  
Of her, whose glories were most eminent.  
In this thy Art hath well deserved of Fame,  
That thou Eliza's glories dost commend,  
And that in Verse she hath a living name,  
And that her Tears (in verse) by thee are penned.  
O the depraved pleasures of wild men,  
That have no pleasure in this moving Art!  
And O those spirits, whose licentious Pen  
Have made these travels of so small desert!  
When men were better, than the times were so,  
And Verse had then their high deserving praise:  
Now Time is old, he doth in weakness go.  
All things (in worth) do alter as their Days.  
Let not the faults of men and evil Time  
Dis-heart thy spirit from Poetike fire:  
Thy Verse is free from all dishonest Rhyme,  
And from the tract of Cupid's idle fire.  
This is the glory, that thy Muse doth sing  
The holy secrets of the holy Cross;  
And of this Saint, and of her suffering,  
In which expense of time there is no less.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that thus thy travels do endeavour,  
I do not see but Lever may live ever.  
Robert 〈◊〉   

Queen Elizabeth's Tears: Or, Her resolute bearing the Christian Crosse.  

I That have reached my meditation high,  
And versed the holy sufferings of my Lord,  
Still do I move in that imperial Sky,  
Where Saints and holy Angels do afford  
Subject that may divinest wit accord:  
I glory then, that to my Verse is given,  
This care to fet their holy cause from heaven.   

Among the number of those holy Saints,  
A happy Lady, where all happies are,  
Whose name Report in every place acquaints,  
Who like the beauty of the fairest Star,  
In beauteous name exceeds all other far:  
And but we do except the Virgin-mother,  
We reach her praise as high as any other.   

Thus I conceive her Image in my thought;  
Clad in the Virgin ornament of white,  
Within that white her innocence was wrought,  
Unspotted with the touch of vain delight,  
Her habit is all day, and nothing night:  
And in that white (as my remembrance saith)  
Was writ this mot, defender of the Faith.   

Her presence could express what she had been,  
Humble, yet full of princely majesty;  
A constant Martyr, yet a royal Queen;  
Before her state went much adversity,  
In all proportion's judgement might descry  
What holy motions moved in her heart,  
For holy signs of prayer did move each part.   

Upon her head a Coronet of gold,  
To intimate her eminence of place;  
But in her royal presence I behold,  
The Image both of Majesty and Grace,  
The heart of State was graven in her face:  
Let him in judgement be reputed blind,  
That in the face sees nothing of the mind.   

Within one hand she held an armed blade,  
(Whereon was writ her many victories;)  
The other with much reverence she laid,  
Upon the Book of heavenly mysteries;  
As if that God in wisdom did devise,  
To give this Lady that victorious Sword,  
To guard the passage of his holy word.   

Before her feet a Globe of earth was cast,  
Sceptres, and Crowns, and marks of high estate;  
Yea Kings themselves and Potentates were placed,  
In humble rank before this Magistrate;  
Their fortunes on her victories did wait:  
For when that she would favour or cast down▪  
The bad had war, the better had the Crown.   

These Trophies do erect eternal name,  
That ever lives in honour of this Queen;  
That give occasion unto busy Fame,  
To make report what her deserts have been:  
Myself that have these admirations seen;  
In humble verse her sufferings do relate,  
That dare not meddle with her time of State.   

This cogitation of this Princely one,  
Is often entertained in my mind;  
Waking, or not, I oft revise thereon,  
And often in my thoughts this Queen I find,  
And oft her glad remembrance hath inclined  
To heart my verse, that writ the holy Passion,  
Of her religious Tears to make relation.   

O thou that dost inspire with holy flame,  
The moving spirits of deep Poesy;  
Give me to add some honour to her name,  
That wants her due of holy memory:  
For Time will rot our best mortality.  
And sith that she all virtuous ones did cherish,  
It pity were her virtuous name should perish.   

O let my verse move indignation,  
And stir the blood of better abled wit:  
Envy, or shame of this relation,  
May hap beget the means to better it:  
How ere my shame, it doth my liking fit,  
By any means to add unto her praise,  
Our love is in our heart, not in our phrase.   

¶ When holy Edward's Spirit did expire,  
Borne on the wings of Angels into bliss;  
The earth grew cold and wanted holy fire,  
When this divine defender parted is,  
Black Night did then succeed this Day of his:  
For then the glory of the day is done,  
When interposed earth bedims the Sun.   

O the exceeding wisdom in the heaven,  
Whose providence protecteth every care:  
To silly men the licence is not given,  
To see forbidden secrets what they are;  
In vain upon the face of heaven men stare,  
To know the hidden cause of that effect,  
Which in God's secret will is hidden kept.   

Tell me, thou wisest in judicious Art,  
(Or if thou canst not tell, I silence thee)  
Why God removed this holy King apart,  
And left his Church to open tyranny:  
You read not in the Stars this secrecy:  
He that all future's can discern afar,  
Within his breast these secrets hidden are.   

Now Time had set this glorious Son of grace,  
To darkness he his Empire did resign;  
Darkness that long had overspread the face  
Of holy truth and virtuous discipline;  
No light apparent where no light may shine:  
And but the fires of Martyrs that gave light,  
All had been black, and in eternal night.   

You that have nothing holy but your name,  
That did incense this Marie unto blood;  
Be it to you your everlasting shame,  
So to corrupt her nature that was good;  
O had she had the spirit to withstood  
You that did hearten her to her disgrace,  
She had deserved pre-eminence of place.   

To save a world of sinners you pretend,  
But you intent another by pretence:  
Religious duties often you commend,  
Yet interdict you our obedience,  
You bid speak truth, but in a double sense:  
How can your teaching many spirits save,  
When words and works such contradictions have?   

These Instigators fill her hands with blood,  
(In all respects save this a virtuous Queen)  
What they made vicious would have proved good,  
Had not their powerful provocations been,  
Upon her name this blood had not been seen:  
And men of holy place be sure of this,  
Where you touch blood, the mark apparent is.   

This Lady (in the number of the rest)  
Endured the storm of persecution:  
Highest in grief, and in her name the best,  
And with the best maintained her resolution,  
She (like the Lamb prepared for execution)  
Doth still expect by losing of her breath,  
To give her holy cause a holy death.   

And reason had she of this just suspect,  
(So strange was alteration in the State)  
Within her Sister's face she found neglect;  
And friends do ever fail th'unfortunate,  
The present state men only estimate:  
For as the wind transports the flying Air,  
So, as times alter, men still fliers are.   

Her house in Edward's time a little Court,  
Full of the fawning service of the knee:  
But Marry now cuts off this full resort,  
And men fall back in their Apostasy;  
The Cuckoo's sing not where cold winters be:  
And Time this Lady of her port bereaves,  
As winter frosts nip off the falling leaves.   

These were the first beginnings of her care,  
Which (like the heads of little rising springs)  
Run to a larger bigness than they were:  
So Time that favours not this Lady, brings  
Still fresh supply unto her sufferings;  
Like floods that with their swelling tides are fed▪  
Till falling Seas do make their waters ebb.   

Here might she spend her holy meditation,  
(As sure she did much holier than I write)  
She altars not with Fortune's alteration:  
Resolve had made her sufferings her delight,  
Her holy cause did give her holy might:  
To bear the indignation of their spleen,  
That made her Sister her offended Queen.   

¶ O thou eternal Spirit (thus she says)  
Without whose pleasure nothing hath event:  
Before we be, thou numbrest all our days,  
And preordainest every accident;  
To thee all things that be, themselves present.  
And I, that for thy holy Name must die,  
Embrace the cause, and thank thy Majesty.   

What ere I suffer is in thy decree,  
Which limits all the purposes of men:  
Myself, my cause I consecrate to thee,  
Let them cut off uncertain life, yet then  
I'll breath it in thy sacred hands; and when  
My Sister Marie offers up my blood,  
I'll offer up my heart to make it good.   

My Saviour jesus suffered more than I,  
And for my sake, that Lord he suffered.  
The righteous One did for the sinful die,  
And gave his life for ours that perished.  
Thy servant is by thy example led,  
To die for Truth, sith Truth did die for me,  
For thus to die, is life's eternity.   

What is my life the world should envy so?  
(Alas) a little puff of breathing air;  
Death hath ten thousand means to let it go,  
And fly this weary body of my care,  
Uncertain I to lose it when, or where.  
there's somewhat else than breath they care for than,  
For breath is common unto every man.   

It is for Conscience and Religion's cause,  
That I endure this burden of their hate;  
How ere guiltless, yet the wrested Laws  
Must correspond in judgement with the State,  
For that is law our Governors relate:  
And though by Law my innocence be proved,  
The Case will alter, if the Prince be moved.   

Be it that Gods preventing eye should sleep,  
And that their purpose have desired end:  
That Soul they take from me they cannot keep,  
Which to a mighty Lord recommend;  
His right he can against all claims defend:  
How fruitless is the harvest which they make,  
That cannot keep the treasure which they take?   

Men are in iurious that report of Death,  
To be the highest of extremities;  
Whenas we die, what lose we else but breath?  
And many numbers of our miseries,  
When this life sets, a better doth arise:  
And when to Death a holy cause is given,  
Death is the Gate by which we enter heaven.   

Within our life these sorrows we contain,  
Uncertain days, yet full of certain grief,  
In number few, but infinite in pain:  
O'er charged with wants, but naked of relief,  
In ruling it our evil parts are chief:  
And though our time be not cut short by Death,  
Oldeage will creep to stop uncertain breath.   

Yet to the much affliction of the mind,  
This of the body is a scant compare;  
Wherein so many, and so much I find,  
As would astone my spirits to declare;  
Trial can only tell us what they are:  
For we whom Custom hath with grief acquainted,  
By us her sad proportion best is painted.   

The Grief of mind is that intestine war,  
That stirs sedition in the state of man;  
Where, when our Passions once commanders are,  
Our peaceful days are desperate, for than  
The stir's more hot, than when it first began;  
For heady Passion's like an untamed beast,  
That riots most, when we desire it least.   

This violence exceeds his virtuous mean,  
Like swelling tides that overrun their shore,  
Leaving the lawful current of their stream,  
And break their banks that bounded them before:  
Yet grief in his great, violence is more:  
For if that Reason bound not Grief with Laws,  
In our destruction Grief will be the cause.   

Grief should be borne with much indifference,  
Not much regarded, yet regardless never;  
Not much affected, yet we must have sense,  
To feel our grief and apprehend it ever;  
Yet let the grieved ever thus endeavour;  
To make his burden easeful as he may,  
And so his grief with ease is borne away.   

So much of Grief we only do sustain,  
As in our choice ourselves do apprehend:  
Grief may present itself, but not constrain  
That we embrace what it doth recommend.  
Bear it but lightly then; for to that end  
Is Patience given, by whose resolved might,  
The heaviest load of Grief is made but light.   

This is the most of happiness we have,  
That with our Patience we support our cares.  
Not we ourselves, but God this virtue gave,  
Which our unworthy life right well declares;  
To lose my life, is for to lose my cares.  
Then what is Death that I should fear to die?  
Death is the death of all my misery.   

What then is that which doth beget desire  
In human flesh to linger out long days?  
Is it because to Honormen aspire?  
Or, for their name in Beauty hath a praise?  
Or, is't their greedy Avarice them stays?  
Honour, Beauty, nor desire of Gold,  
Cannot the certain of their death withhold.   

Honour is nothing but a very name,  
Often conferred to men of little merit;  
In every place; as common as is Fame,  
Commonly given to every common spirit;  
So little worth as any one may wear it.  
Then why should that be thought of estimation,  
That gives to base deservings high creation?   

The name and place of honour may be given,  
As please the Prince in favour to dispose;  
But true derived Honour is from heaven,  
And often lives in mean estate with those,  
That to the courts of Princes never goes.  
How vainly proud are such as would get Fame,  
Yet get no more of Honour but the name.   

Be it, thy Honour as the glorious Sun  
Exceed the rate of common expectation;  
Thy Prince displeased once, thy honour's done:  
In rising to this pitch men use gradation,  
But at one fall they lose all estimation:  
For he whose power is ever absolute,  
His angry breath can puff thy glory out.   

Where is the honour of great Macedon,  
That measured out large Empires with his Sword?  
Great julius is with many Caesars gone,  
Leaving no more of Honour than the word,  
And but the pens of Scholars that recotd;  
Old Time would bring their Honour to that shame,  
As Caesar and the rest would have no name.   

Who is't that now of Caesar bends the knee,  
Or frames the sweet of words to please his ear?  
Who is't that now regardeth his Decree,  
Or his offended countenance doth fear?  
Caesar in's Grave, his Honour is nowhere.  
If Honour thus do perish in the best,  
What may be then expected in the rest?   

He that from envious eye, and full resort,  
lives private, with a little state content;  
Little desires the honour of the Court,  
Where emulation stirs a discontent.  
Men shoot at him that is most eminent:  
And whom the prince with highest grace doth crown,  
Envy brings many hands to pull him down.   

See here the glory of mortality,  
Which we with infinite of care pursue,  
Painful to get, but lost at liberty;  
Fatal to many, fortunate to few,  
Whereto so many miseries ensue,  
As fills our time with cares; then why should I  
For this respect of honour fear to die?   

Is Beauty then of that high consequence,  
Wherein I may dissuasive reason find?  
Is that fair shadow of that excellence,  
That for the face I should exchange the mind?  
Beauty that blindeth many, cannot blind  
My Reason so; for beauty's but a flower,  
Which being plucked it fadeth in an hour.   

What though the world with admirations eye,  
Gaze at the wondrous pleasure in the face;  
Wherein the greatest use great industry,  
Watching each little favour to embrace,  
And proud themselves to be in Beauty's grace:  
Yet when the best of Beauty men have got,  
(If not old Age) the Grave will make it rot.   

Where are those Beauties which the world admired,  
That with attraction slaved the hearts of men?  
Within their graves these Ladies are retired,  
And all their beauty is decayed with them;  
What is't in Beauty we should value then?  
For those that were of most admired face,  
Are now confined to a rotten place.   

Beauty is like a Comet in the Air,  
Which being lighted by the burning Sun,  
Seems to the strange beholder wondrous fair;  
But when the matter of the light is done,  
The fire goes out: In like comparison,  
Let Beauty like the fairest star be bright,  
Beauty will set, and be as black as night.   

It well befits the spirit of great blood,  
To love that lest which is of common use;  
Then why should Beauty be esteemed good,  
Which many commons commonly abuse?  
For where in wisdom Nature doth refuse  
To give to many beauty of the face,  
A little Art will cover that disgrace.   

Look, as the Earth bedecked with beauteous flowers,  
(The pretty children of the earth and spring)  
Warmed with the Sun, and fed with heavenly showers,  
Have but a little time of tarrying:  
So, when the winter of our age shall bring  
Our fading time, our Beauty like the flower,  
Cannot this winter of our age endure.   

This nothing of desert cannot persuade,  
That I should fear this Image of my death;  
The beauty of the mind will never fade,  
Which I must value dearer than my breath:  
Who would adventure heaven for little earth?  
The beauteous name of Truth for which I die,  
Exceeds the beauty of the fairest eye.   

If these respects have not the power to move,  
That have been powerful in great Potentates;  
For many great ones have desired Love,  
And for their Love have wasted great Estates,  
And for their Love have oft proved desperates.  
But for the base desire of having much,  
Never way any of the Princely such.   

He that of wealth desireth any more,  
Than may suffice an honest compotence;  
Fills to a vessel that is full before,  
Which overrunnes with prodigal expense,  
What Care put in with greedy diligence.  
Exceeding wealthy the contented are,  
That with their little have but little care.   

Among great evils Avarice is chief,  
Attended on by many miseries,  
Whose like is well resembled in the Thief,  
Who thriveth most by many robberies:  
So he that would by greedy Mammon rise,  
Must like a Thief by some devise or other,  
Make himself rich by taking from another.   

And hence it is, that men in every trade,  
Have secret Art to raise a wealthy state;  
Whereby their base beginnings oft are made,  
To large possessions wondrous fortunate:  
Yet righteous God that doth injustice hate,  
Oft gives to wealth thus gotten such an Heir,  
Or freely spends what Avarice did spare.   

Desire of much doth oft beget desire,  
To rob the Orphan, and the widow mother;  
Makes, that in blood we many times conspire,  
Against the very bosoms of our brother;  
The covetous do feed one of another:  
For when men's hearts on this Desire are set,  
They care not what the means be, so they get.   

And therefore is't that Law hath many Cases,  
And every Case wrapped up in double sense;  
And every sense of traveled in Law places,  
As the Professor for his diligence,  
Must wear the Case that is in difference.  
Desire of wealth is then an evil cause,  
That thus corrupts the Tenor of good laws.   

What should I number up these evils more,  
Whose repetition grieves my better mind:  
Croesus is gone with all his heaped store,  
Leaving no more than evil name behind;  
Who can one penny of his treasure find?  
Then Honour, Beauty, and Desire of gain,  
Are pleasures that but little time remain.   

God is my honour, God's the beauteous face,  
Which I with greedy appetite behold;  
He is my treasure that I would embrace,  
He is my honour, beauty, and my gold:  
To purchase him, all others I have sold.  
Sith I am Gods, and God is mine, than I  
Make it my (all) for this my God to die.   

Thus did this Lady with herself dispute,  
And to herself she framed such argument,  
As in her purpose made her resolute,  
To bear what ere those evil times present.  
Grief is not felt by one so patient:  
For what though men lay all their evils on us,  
A little Patience bears their evils from us.   

(Good Lady) she had only this one care,  
(So holy Mary had but only one)  
How she for happy death might best prepare,  
For this she spends her cogitation,  
Her hours in prayer, her time in meditation:  
When Death comes thus to our prepared days,  
We honour God, and get eternal praise.   

Such was the Saint, the Sinner was not so;  
Such was the Lamb, the Butcher different,  
Such was the Lark, the Buzzard that's below,  
Mounts to a pitch to seize the innocent;  
The good, the bad, the base, the eminent:  
So opposite, as she in evils lest,  
Suffers the proud controlment of a Priest.   

(Steven,) it was thy contrivement, and thy care;  
To persecute the cause for which Steven bled.  
Betwixt two Steuens what differences are;  
Yet both of you with blood were sprinkled,  
Thou martiredst many, he was martyred.  
How ill it fits thee to be called Steven,  
Thy nature is from hell, thy name from heaven.   

Thou hadst the name and place of Gardner,  
To dress the Vintage thou commandest o'er;  
But by thy hand, the hedges broken were,  
Which holy Church had fenced in before;  
And thou thyself (proud Gardner) like a Boar,  
Rootst up the flower, and fruitful bearing tree,  
That in God's holy Gardens fairest be.   

The reverend name of Bishop that was given,  
Ill sorted with thy strong desire of blood;  
Those high deservings were not found in Steven,  
That correspond the name of Fatherhood;  
Where all is evil, there is nothing good:  
And so thy names and nature disagree,  
As opposites in their extremity.   

Bishops (if they would correspond their name)  
Must be composed of merciful respect;  
For God is such whence their creation came,  
Who hath from many numbers them select,  
To pattern holy life to Gods elect:  
And sith to Prince's God hath given the Sword,  
Let them be princely only in God's word.   

What is't they be invested in their white,  
And wear the holy Orders of their place?  
If unto foul offence they have delight;  
That will their whited vestments disgrace,  
Pride, and Ambition in a Prelates face,  
Are ugly forms; nor is their Priesthood good,  
That wash their hands in holy Martyrs blood.   

If any think I speak with envious breath,  
And wrong the just deservings of this man,  
He is deceived, it is Elizabeth,  
Whose tribulation she endured than,  
Stirs up more angry blood than Envy can:  
(And if the truth in Stories be recorded,)  
He was the worst of men those times afforded.   

Witness this Lady of deserved praise,  
Witness the much affliction she endured,  
Witness the number of her grieved days,  
Witness the prisons where she was immured,  
Witness himself these evils that procured,  
Witness the Saints that perished in that fire,  
Which Steven (like bellows) kindled with desire.   

When she (good Lady) is in holy praire,  
Or in the heaven of holy meditation;  
This Machevillian doth his plots prepare,  
How to incense the Queen with indignation,  
And to that end he makes a large relation:  
Which though the truth be not in Stories read,  
This for a truth may be imagined.   

(My Sovereign, thus his envy can begin)  
I that have place in your affairs of State,  
And detestation of heretic sin,  
Am therefore bold for to expostulate,  
And give advise unto your high estate,  
In matter of most weighty consequence,  
Faithful advise is our best diligence.   

Elizabeth (O may I not offend)  
Your Sister (gracious Sovereign) is not true  
Unto your State, nor to your life a friend;  
She is the head of that rebellious crew,  
That moves sedition in the residue.  
When Faction gets a head that's near the Crown,  
Wisdom would beat the head of Faction down.   

Our Sister (saith the much offended Queen)  
(Bishop) be well advised what you say;  
We to our Sister have right gracious been,  
How is't that she in love should fall away?  
We cannot think our Sister will betray.  
The Priest replied, If so your Grace will hear,  
I'll give you instance, both of when and where.   

When Wyatt with the mutinous in Kent,  
Moved a commotion in your quiet State,  
So dangerous that Wyatt did present  
His rebel troops before your princely Gate;  
Whom, though the heavens were pleased to ruinate,  
Yet let it be within your princely care,  
To know the cause from whence these rebels were.   

Wyatt (alas) a private Gentleman,  
Whose reputation never reached so high,  
As to be marked in State; could Wyatt than  
With his weak credit raise a Company,  
So warlike as to match your Majesty?  
(Madam be sure) a greater was the head,  
Although the body Wyatt governed.   

In great attempts it's weighty policy,  
That whom the practice doth most near respect,  
With false appearance they dissembled be,  
That if their bad designs have bad effect,  
They may avoid the danger of suspect;  
But if the practice have desired end,  
The Plotters than the practice will commend.   

Your Sister learned in this subtle Art,  
(Be pleased to pardon plainness in my speech)  
Would not the secret of the Plot impart,  
Save unto Wyatt, whom her Art could teach,  
To silence how Ambition made her reach:  
And though the Traitor to his death deny it,  
The truth of circumstance will verify it.   

What other cause, save Luther's discipline,  
Begat this civil discord in your State?  
Nor can your kingdoms holy Church resign;  
Whilst that your princely self is Magistrate.  
Then sure these rebels she did animate,  
Your sacred life (by treason) to deprive,  
That she and Luther might the better thrive.   

Who is't but you that wears the princely Crown,  
With which Ambition would adorn her head?  
She cannot rise before your Grace be down,  
Nor can she rule before your state be dead:  
This trick of State would be considered.  
The Queen replied, (And sayst thou so good Priest)  
Who then desireth all, she shall have least.   

The times that followed were good testament,  
How much the Prelate did the Queen incense;  
For presently Commissioners were sent  
To Ashbridge house, to fet the Lady thence,  
With strict command, to haste their diligence:  
So forcible was his persuasive tongue,  
To make one Sister do another wrong.   

These Ministers (in silence be their name)  
Posted their journey with a greedy haste;  
For Evil is like double-winged Fame,  
That looseth breath by flying over fast;  
They run the best to evil that run last.  
And these that now (to please Queen Marie) fly,  
Will run for Elizabeth, if Marie die.   

A maiden that attended on her Grace,  
By them demanded how the Princess did;  
A reverend fear brought paleness to her face,  
And in her heart she was astonished,  
And with a fearful voice delivered  
This answer; Lords, my Lady is not well,  
Please it your Lo: your occasions tell?   

They answer, No, and with a stern aspect,  
Threaten the fearful spirit of the Maid;  
Whose spirits from her outward parts were crept,  
To cheer her heart, with terror much afraid:  
And still, when she could get a word, she said:  
My Mistress (lord) Her words then stopped with fears,  
The rest that wanted were supplied with tears.   

Go tell thy Mistress (thus they make reply)  
That we are sent to bring her to the Court;  
Our haste is great, stay not to ask us why,  
Our estimation it doth much import,  
That dead or living she with us resort.  
The maid whose heart their very words did break,  
Would have replied, but that she could not speak.   

But in she runs with such amazed haste,  
As those that are transported with their grief;  
Close by the Princess bed herself she placed,  
Shivering she stood, as doth the Aspen leaf;  
And oft she would begin, and oft her grief  
Draws back her words, that in her troubled breast,  
Heave up her body with their much unrest.   

The Princess when she sees her so dismayed,  
Raiseth her sickly body in her bed;  
And fearless she demands her fearful Maid,  
How she with grief became so altered;  
Its ease (she saith) to have it uttered:  
(If for my sake) I pray thee shed no tear,  
We that are princely minded cannot fear.   

(As grief would give her leave) the maiden said,  
Madam, your Grace is sent for to the Queen.  
(The Lady then) Why art thou so afraid?  
Would God this let of sickness had not been:  
I have not of long time my Sister seen.  
And though for much affliction I be sent,  
My God hath taught me to be patient.   

Return again unto the Lords, and say,  
My sickness is at this time violent;  
Please it them rest their travels here to day,  
To morrow they their message may present;  
We to our Prince must be obedient.  
Pray them to give deferment to my sorrow,  
What they give not to night, they'll give to morrow.   

The Maid, whose duty was obedience,  
Hastes to acquaint them with her Lady's pleasure:  
But rudely they with much unreverence,  
Whose pride would not attend the Princess leisure,  
Rush (undesired) where lay this heavenly treasure.  
Which their presumption so offends her Grace,  
As she confronts them with an angry face.   

(Sirs) you are not advised what you do,  
(Thus their abuse stirs her princely fire,)  
That your audacious footings enter so  
Into our private, where we do retire;  
Is it Ambition makes you thus aspire?  
You ill remember what your duties been,  
Nor that myself is Sister to your Queen.   

Yet this above all other grief is highest,  
That so my sovereign Sister is offended;  
Nearest in blood, and to my love the nighest,  
To whose protection I am left commended:  
How is't this love of Sisters should be ended?  
Sure I suspect you do my Sister wrong,  
She cannot be so cruel as your tongue.   

How ere it be, my comfort is in heaven,  
That makes me powerful to support my grief;  
God that is just, to my just cause hath given  
Patience, by which the wronged have relief:  
Among the patient I myself am chief.  
(I tell you true) it is of much import,  
That God will help my sorrows to support:   

Thus she had said, and then she bids, Prepare  
To satisfy th' important Messengers:  
Who on the morrow all prepared were,  
And all set forward with their busy cares,  
Their haste their evil diligence declares:  
For all their haste was but to haste her death,  
Whom God would give a many years of breath.   

To tell her weary journey to the Court,  
Her sickness, and their much discourtesy;  
The few of friends that to her Grace resort,  
The many griefs, and much adversity,  
That had be dimmed her late prosperity:  
To tell you all I should but tell too much,  
Such was this Lady, and their usage such.   

Being arrived at Court, her entertain  
Sorted the rest of her affliction:  
She in a private chamber did remain,  
Barred from the free access of any one;  
And (but for God and Angels) she alone.  
(Good Lady) in her private spent her prayer,  
Whilst Steven and others in contriving were.   

Unto this Saint the Queen a devil sent,  
Who (with some others of the Counsel) came,  
With subtle speech to sift and cirumvent  
Her innocence. Be it eternal shame  
To brand with black the record of thy name:  
For as the hounds pursue the flying chase,  
Thy dogged thoughts, (O Steven) pursue her Grace.   

Thus he begins to open his vile breath.  
(Madam) we come authorized from the Queen;  
That Queen whom you had destinate for Death,  
Had not the power of God's resistance been;  
But he that hath your secret practice seen,  
Lays open all your treason in the light,  
Which you have long concealed from our sight.   

(Madam) Nay stay, (the grieved Princess says)  
We have enough to make a large reply;  
You do not well report us in your phrase,  
And for the name of Treason I defy,  
O that in you should be such injury;  
It ill befits your reverend place (my Lord)  
To brand our honour with so foul a word.   

But for my sovereign Sister you present,  
I in my silence will myself contain;  
Only let this be thought indifferent,  
That from the word of Treason you refrain.  
(I tell you true) I must that word disdain.  
Then say the rest (my Lords) how untrue soe'er,  
I will enforce my patience for to hear.   

This just reproof incensed the Prelate more,  
Kindled the fire of Envy in his flesh:  
And made him much more bitter than before,  
Breathing forth words of much unworthiness,  
Which for they would but grieve me to express,  
I silence them, and tell you of the rest;  
The least of evils, is of evils best.   

(Thus he) Howe'er you smooth with fair pretence,  
And hide your guilt with resolute denial;  
The eye of judgement can discern offence;  
Nor want we power to bring you to a trial,  
We have Intelligence for our espial:  
And when you thought all was in private kept,  
The eye of State did wake, you thought 't'had slept.   

Courtney, and you did not conspire in one?  
(You think we know not that you did conspire)  
To stir the people to rebellion,  
Whereby you might unto the Crown aspire;  
And to that end breathed your ambitious fire  
In Wyat's breast, that he by his attempt,  
Might make a way for your new government.   

Which if you should aspire (which God forbid)  
How would these kingdoms ruin in your rise?  
Religion would in banishment be hid,  
And Luther then must be in exercise.  
Do not you thus within your heart devise?  
I know you do; for how should you be other,  
Being derived from so bad a mother?   

(Madam) you have to much your Father's blood,  
And much too much his blind opinion.  
Think you your Father did his kingdoms good,  
To set himself in opposition,  
Against the Church, and true religion?  
(Though Giantlike) he fought with little odds,  
To raise seditious war against the gods.   

Such as was he, such your deceived brother;  
Treading the path his father went before.  
And you (if that you might) would be another,  
To make the holy Church to suffer more.  
But God, whose hand hath cured what they made sore,  
Hath given Religion and the State a friend,  
Whose hopes cut off the evils you intent.   

Religious Marie, whose obedience  
Unto the holy Seat of Peter's chair,  
Receives from heaven such large benevolence,  
As if Religion and the Kingdoms were  
By providence committed to her care:  
It is in vain you then with her contend,  
Whom God and holy Angels will defend.   

(Bishop) I record heaven you do me wrong,  
(The Princess said) I have no such intent;  
My heart hath not resemblance with your tongue,  
Nor do I hate my Sister's government:  
My God he knows that I am innocent.  
If for my Conscience thus you do envy,  
I for my Conscience am content to die.   

She would have said much more, but that the Lords,  
(To haste the execution of their care)  
Do interrupt the passage of her words,  
Adding more grief to them that grieved were,  
Telling her Grace, she must herself prepare;  
For that the Queen gave strict commandment, that  
She to the Tower. The Tower (alas) for what?   

(So she made hasty answer, and then wept;  
And then begins in grieved words again.)  
What need a woman in the Tower be kept?  
I in a lesser prison may remain:  
Alas my Sister, and my Sovereign.  
How should these wrongs of me be understood,  
That thus receive them from my nearest blood?   

Recall your evil words, and say not so,  
Do not a silly woman so confound:  
Unto the Tower not but offenders go;  
If then offence within my life be found,  
Then (like a Traitor) let me enter bound:  
If not, entreat my Sister that I die,  
Rather than Traitorlike in prison lie.   

The Lords made answer, that it could not be,  
So much the Queen was moved to offence,  
As she would not reverse that her decree,  
Nor durst they stand with her in difference:  
And then they counsel her to patience;  
And to the mercy of the Queen submit,  
Who (for submission) would most favour it.   

Thus they had said; and then they left the place,  
And in the place left many cares behind:  
All which (like Robbers) did assail her Grace,  
And break the treasure of her quiet mind;  
So much of grief in one I cannot find:  
And (sure) if God should not supply to such,  
No woman in the world could bear so much.   

(Although I would) I cannot make report,  
How much this Lady is in her distress;  
Nor how by prayer she maketh her resort,  
Unto the presence of God's holiness:  
Neither can I in lively forms express,  
How God takes up her holy praire to heaven,  
And all the grief that to her Grace was given.   

Nor can I tell you all their busy care,  
That had begirt her lodging round about:  
How many numbers in their Armours were,  
Nor how in manhood they were resolute:  
What watch and ward, what running in and out:  
Nor how in warlike sort they do prepare,  
Against a Lady that intends but praire.   

The night thus spent, the next succeeding day,  
Brought to this Lady new supply of wrong;  
The Queen hath sent to bid her haste away,  
Her stay made people in great numbers throng  
Unto the Court. The Tower (she saith) is strong:  
And though the people in her favour rise,  
Yet being there, she can us not surprise.   

The Messengers that brought this hard command,  
Said that a Barge did for her Grace attend;  
And that, not Time, nor Tide would ever stand,  
And therefore did desire she would not spend  
The Time that made the Tide to be their friend.  
The Princess (with a grieved smile) replied,  
I am not friended with your forward Tide.   

Will you but length my time a little more,  
And stay the fortunes of another Tide:  
God may in little Time myself restore,  
And favour whom the Times indignifide;  
Will you my Lords? The Lords then thus replied:  
Madam, we are but servants to the State,  
Servants must ever on their masters wait.   

Is there no mercy? Then be strong my heart,  
To bear the sorrows of a weary breath;  
I have a God, that will from heaven impart  
Patience, that makes us joyous in our death;  
My God, be such to thy Elizabeth.  
Sith that the Queen all mercy doth deny,  
I to the King of heaven for mercy fly.   

Yet will I with my duteous care attempt,  
To purchase favour from my Sister's eye;  
For by my Letters to my Sovereign sent,  
Her gracious acceptation I shall try:  
(Save but the Lord of Sussex) all deny,  
To bear the written message she would send,  
So much they fear the Bishop to offend.   

This noble Lord (the heavens record his name,)  
Kneeled with an humble reverence to her Grace;  
Swearing, he would his honour first disclaim,  
And lose the reputation of great place,  
Ere he would so deny her princely Grace.  
If so (he saith) your princely grief be writ,  
I'll pawn my honour to deliver it.   

(See here the difference in the mighty ones,  
The Chancellor Steven, whose place was eminent,  
Had not as Sussex had, these motions:  
For why, his birth from baseness had descent:  
But Sussex is in honour different.  
For when that honour is derived in blood,  
That honour makes the honourable good.)   

The Lady glad she had a means to send,  
Raiseth him from the service of his knee;  
And she in tears his honour did commend,  
That hath respect to her extremity.  
And then she craves a little liberty,  
That to her Sovereign Sister she may write.  
Grief hath a tongue, but cannot well indite.   

My Sovereign and my Sister (thus she saith)  
I have no grief but that your Grace is grieved,  
And that you have suspicion of my faith,  
And that I am not of your Grace believed,  
(Alas) who hath my treasure thus bereaved;  
Please it your Grace my innocence to try,  
If I be guilty, let the guilty die.   

This letter did this faithful Lord present  
Unto the Queen: but yet with such success,  
As still she is to her malevolent.  
Steven had resolved her in her bloodiness,  
She therefore blames the Earl's forwardness,  
That he would thus expend his industry,  
In favour of her greatest enemy.   

Away (she saith) convey her to the Tower,  
Is our command so little of respect?  
We will not you defer it off an hour,  
You do dis-honour us in your neglect:  
We tell you Sussex, she had need be kept,  
And kept secure, whose pride makes her aspire  
To reach her state above ourself much higher.   

The Earl thus ill fortuned in his hope,  
Would not reply unto the Queen's offence,  
Lest he against himself might her provoke,  
But back returns with his lost diligence,  
And tells the Princess how he did commence  
Her humble suit, and of the Queen's reply,  
That did all favour to her Grace deny.   

(Alas she says) why do I then contend,  
To help the evil fortunes I endure?  
It must be death must give my sorrows end,  
In death I shall my quiet best assure.  
Death can more happiness than I procure.  
Then to the Tower, sith mercy you deny,  
It's better once than ever for to die.   

And on the morrow to the Tower she went,  
Guarded with bands of many armed men.  
The time was in the holy time of Lent,  
And on the day of holy Sabbaoth, when  
Religious duties were performing, then  
Did Steven (almost agreeing in the day)  
Most judas like this holy one betray.   

What should I tell you of the much resort,  
Of running vulgars' that upon her gaze?  
Or of the strange constructions of the Court,  
Nor how the news the better sort amaze,  
Nor what the murmur of the people says:  
But for to tell the sorrows in her breast,  
To tell you that is more than all the rest.   

What is't her Grace with grief should tear her mind?  
Or that the giddy people for her pray:  
Except in God she can no comfort find.  
What, is't the Tide enforce her for to stay?  
Hulling upon the river where she lay:  
For when the Tide a little time had spent,  
The Tide then served for her imprisonment.   

Being arrived at the place of woe,  
They offer to the stairs where Traitors land;  
Her Grace desired she might not enter so,  
Praying the Lords that they would so command.  
Some do accord, but others do withstand:  
And there (as often when it goes by voice)  
The worse (and not the better) had the choice.   

Then with a grieved (yet a princely) grace,  
She steps upon that ill arriving shore:  
And here (she saith) now enters in this place,  
As true a subject to my Governor,  
As ere this heavy passage went before.  
And you my Lords, bear witness what I say,  
A loyal heart may enter in this way.   

In these our present fortunes you may read,  
The fickle change of all mortality;  
You know (my Lords) how princely we are bred,  
And now you see our great extremity;  
(Alas) in us there is no certainty;  
For though we be the nearest to the Crown,  
A little trick of Fortune pulls us down.   

When this was said, she thence was led away,  
Into the circuit of the inner Court;  
The way she went was marshaled in array,  
A many country swains in warlike sort.  
These warriors that saw her princely port,  
Such reverence in the silly men appears,  
Their hands have weapons, but their eyes have tears.   

Terror in every place presents her eye,  
And that so much as might exanimate,  
A heart of well resolved valiancy;  
Much more a Lady so unfortunate,  
To lose the pleasures of so high estate:  
For (sure) than Grief is many doubles more,  
That comes to one that knew it not before.   

To see the men of war to be her guard,  
The dismal place she was to enter in;  
The heaps of Ammunition in the yard,  
The noise of fettered prisoners from within,  
To see these marks of war and prisoning,  
Were much unfitting objects for the sight,  
Ladies (not love) but fear to be in the fight.   

The numbers of her grief do so oppress,  
The much enfeebled body of her Grace,  
As she sits down with her much weariness,  
And on a stone she makes her resting place;  
Who (though the clouds did fall upon her face)  
Lifts up her hands unto the weeping sky,  
That only mourns for her extremity.   

(And thus she said) O thou eternal eye,  
That sees the very secrets of my heart:  
I do report me to thy Majesty,  
That I am not so foul in my desert,  
Thou art my comfort, and my judge thou art.  
Sith here on earth no justice will be given,  
I for my justice will resort to heaven.   

The work did well express the workman's Art▪  
For that which should have life did seem to have it:  
He could no more then seeming life impart,  
And that was done so well as Art could have it,  
So exquisite the lustre that he gave it.  
The Artist had so much of Art in giving,  
As she did fear the Lions had been living.   

In midst of them sat Daniel at his praire,  
His eyes, his heart, and hands he lifts to heaven:  
His armed guard, the kingly Lions were,  
And unto him were many Angels given:  
Some do restrain the Lions that are keen,  
Others upon his breath attending are,  
To carry up the message of his praire.   

Nor in this holy story was forgot,  
How Abacue was carried from his men:  
Nor how the Angel set him on the top,  
Nor how he called to Daniel in the Den:  
But (sure) some wit was in the workman, when  
He makes the Angel bear him by the hair;  
Yet makes his head be bald, and almost bare.   

The Princess on this object spends her sight,  
And freely spends it with intentive eye:  
The grieved do in grieved things delight,  
And this well sorts with her extremity.  
here is (she saith) a friendly company,  
We are not then alone, why grieve we thus?  
For Daniel and the Lions be with us.   

As I, so Daniel was of noble blood,  
Both I, and Daniel have like holy cause;  
As I myself, so Daniel hath withstood  
To yield obedience unto wicked Laws;  
Daniel and I are envied both, because  
We give that honour to the King of heaven,  
Which others unto Images have given.   

God sends his Angels to this holy man,  
And binds the force of Lions for his sake;  
If God restrain, what envy is there than,  
That can from any any little take?  
The eye of providence doth ever wake.  
Then sith that we so like to Daniel are,  
God will as well for us as Daniel care.   

I am (alas) into this prison cast,  
And (God he knows) without deserving cause;  
And I among such Lions now am placed,  
As watch to seize my body in their paws;  
Lord bind the power of their devouring jaws.  
And though among these Lions be a Priest,  
Yet being bloody, he is a bloody beast.   

This apprehension of another's grief,  
Doth somewhat ease the fury of her own;  
And she from Daniel can receive relief,  
Because to him such favour God had shown:  
She knows that God hath all her sorrows known.  
And He that could the furious Lions tame,  
Will favour her that suffers for his name.   

Thus (and much better than I can report)  
Was this good Lady in her grief affected;  
But much unequal was the care at Court,  
Where Steven and others other cares respected;  
With them there was no trick of wit neglected:  
They vex themselves with over studious care,  
To malice her, so much they envious were.   

With their prepared subtleties they came,  
Unto the Tower, to sift her innocence;  
And then the Bishop did the Princess blame,  
And imputates her other men's offence;  
Saying she caused disobedience:  
And those that were rebellious in the State,  
Were only such as she did animate.   

Then he a number of their names recited,  
Their several plots and every circumstance;  
And how her Grace was thought with them united,  
And that from her the war had maintenance:  
He left not aught unsaide that might advance  
His evil drift, which for they were so many,  
And evil ones, I will not write of any.   

The Princess to his many words replied.  
(Alas) what is't you would afflict us more?  
Are not our griefs enough yet multiplied?  
That still you wrong whom you have wronged before,  
I have enough of grief, what need I more?  
And for my answer to your evil tongue,  
I do protest (my Lord) you do me wrong.   

I never had that high aspiring mind,  
To pull my Sister from her royal throne;  
In my religion I could never find,  
Licence or Warrant for rebellion.  
Rome never gave me dispensation:  
Nor ever learned I in my tutering,  
To merit heaven by murdering of Kings.   

This sharp reply the Bishop so offended,  
As he reanswers in a bitter phrase:  
(Madam,) against the Church you have contended,  
And still contend (the angry Prelate says)  
This disobedience is your great dispraise:  
If you betray the Church which is your mother,  
How can you then be true to any other?   

How is't your Grace should thus contend with heaven,  
With God, with Angels, and with holy Saints;  
How is't that thus to Luther you have given  
Your soul, which he with blackness all depaints,  
Who is't this heresy with you acquaints?  
(Alas good Lady) Luther doth not well,  
To draw your Grace and many more to hell.   

O give me leave a little to advise,  
(I do not know how fortunate I may,)  
To leave the danger of your heresies;  
Let Luther bear them with himself away;  
Sith you are lost I will direct your way.  
And will you follow but as I direct,  
You shall arrive the place of Gods elect.   

What should I speak of Perrie who was sent,  
To short her life with his base treacherous hand;  
Or yet of him, who with the like intent,  
Came to surprise her with an armed band;  
Or how with fire she did in danger stand.  
There are both these, and many more behind,  
Whose repetition would but grieve my mind.   

Yet can it not in my remembrance die,  
How Spanish Philip did this Lady friend;  
That he could pity her extremity,  
That he his loving favour did extend,  
That he would praise, that he her gifts commend:  
By this we see their malice was but vain,  
Mercy will come, although it come from Spain.   

So well the King's persuasion could prevail,  
As that the Queen did for her Sister send;  
The message did with fear her heart assail,  
And sure she thinks some evil they intent;  
How ere it be (she saith) I recommend  
Into thy hands, (O sacred Lord of heaven)  
Myself, and all that to myself is given.   

And thus prepared, she journeys to the Court,  
Where in her chamber prison-like retired,  
She lives shut up from any one's resort.  
The Bishop that this Lady's blood desired,  
To quench his heart with burning envy fired;  
Comes to her furnished with his studious care,  
Hoping with craft the Princess to ensnare.   

Gardner, it is in vain thou her assail,  
Whom God protects with his almighty hand;  
Canst thou against the living God prevail?  
Or canst thou his all-able power withstand?  
Or canst thou God and holy heaven command?  
(Bishop be sure) they are deceived far  
That think (with God) to make prevailing war.   

Therefore thy evil had but bad event,  
How ere made strong with thy contriving wit,  
Because thy evil to the good was meant,  
And God would not be pleased to favour it;  
Though earth and hell in busy counsel sit,  
God countermands what ere they devise,  
And makes them foolish, that are judged wise.   

And Winchester, we instance this in thee,  
Whose hours in studious care were ever spent,  
To bring this Lady her extremity:  
Yet for that God did see thy heart's intent,  
He blunts thy edge (O bloody instrument;)  
And (belows-like) he make thy envious breath,  
To make her live, thou wouldst have blown to death.   

Thus God can mock the subtleties of men,  
Letting them run the passage they propose;  
Seeming regardless, yet regardful then,  
His eye their hidden secrets can disclose;  
For Providence in every passage goes:  
That howsoe'er men's policies do plot,  
They have had issue if God favour not.   

So God was pleased with providence and care,  
This virtuous holy Lady to defend.  
To bind their force, and break their hidden snare,  
That evil men for evil did intend.  
And now the Queen doth for her Sister send;  
Where when she was presented on her knee,  
She thus protesteth her integrity.   

(Dread Sovereign) I your servant here present  
Myself as true unto your life and state,  
As is the spirit of an innocent;  
And so let God my grief extenuate,  
As I do wish you to be fortunate:  
And let the heavens their benefits deny  
To all that envy at your Majesty.   

The Queen with angry majesty than saith,  
You stand too much upon your innocence,  
Too confident in your suspected faith,  
It would be better to cast off pretence,  
And plainly to acknowledge your offence.  
(The Princess said) The guilty should confess,  
And so would I, if I had guiltiness.   

But God that sees the very secret thought,  
Knows in my heart there is no guiltiness;  
That there was never any treason wrought,  
Or any thought of such unworthiness.  
If then I should against myself confess;  
I bring myself an everlasting shame,  
To brand the reputation of my name.   

O let it please your Princely majesty,  
That I your servant may receive this grace;  
That Law itself my innocence may try,  
That Law may be impartial in this case:  
And if that Law do quit me of disgrace,  
Then let your servant have a gracious eye;  
If not, let Law and justice make me die.   

If you be then so righteous (saith the Queen)  
Belike you'll say, that we unrighteous are;  
And that your troubles have unrighteous been,  
And so the guilt on us you do transfer,  
And make them righteous that unrighteous are:  
And so to make your own purgation,  
You lay on us the imputation.   

The Lady then: let not my Sovereign  
Have that construction of my duteous heart;  
Long may your reputation God maintain,  
And much may he enlarge your high desert:  
And (if I may my secret heart impart)  
(I do protest) it doth my spirit good,  
To see such honour in my nearest blood.   

And for the sorrows that I do endure,  
I know the cause is not your own desire;  
But that some other did the hurt procure,  
And stirred your anger with their envious fire;  
Against your Grace and me, they do conspire,  
That would the nearness of our love divide,  
Whom God and Nature have so nearly tie.   

Nature (even in the Queen) was powerful strong▪  
And makes her spirit have a feeling sense;  
And now she thinks her Sister hath had wrong,  
And in her heart she blames their diligence,  
That causeless thus did cause this great offence:  
(And to herself she saith) I do offend,  
Are we not Sisters? why should we contend?   

Yet would she not express her inward heart,  
Nor then give demonstration of her love;  
Nor did she then to any one impart,  
What she in her intention did approve:  
But (sure) she had a purpose to remove  
The fire of indignation from her breast,  
Which Steven had kindled with so much unrest.   

The sequel did approve the good intent;  
For now the beams of mercy do appear,  
The Queen doth free her long imprisonment,  
Removes her Jailer whom she most did fear,  
And now she gives her licence to repair  
Unto her home; where when she did arrive,  
A peaceful quiet doth her grief deprive.   

Now I have run the passage I intended,  
(I do not know how fortunate I run;)  
My verse is done now that her grief is ended.  
And she at rest, my busy care is done;  
The clouds do vanish that be dimmed this Sun.  
And God that in her sorrows did protect her,  
Now in her rise he labours to erect her.   

Gardner (the worst of all her enemies)  
The heavens cut short his ill-attempting breath,  
And made him perish with his subtleties:  
But when that Time had given Queen Mary death,  
The heavens than smiled on Elizabeth.  
And now those great ones that envied her Grace,  
Have left to her the greatness of their place.   

Where (like the Sun) she was most glorious bright,  
Casting her beams of mercy every where;  
And every where she gives a glorious light;  
All other lights to her but little were;  
So matchless was she, and so wondrous rare,  
As for to verse her glories I refuse,  
Leaving that Labour for a better Muse.   

I never touched Parnassus with my sight;  
Nor did the Muses ever teach me rhyme,  
Only in humble verse I take delight:  
Nor do I love the higher strains to climb;  
This plainness makes me t'vnfit the time:  
But if that Art unto my verse were given,  
She then should live in verse, that lives in heaven.   
FINIS.