Time's journey to seek his Daughter Truth:  
And Truth's Letter to Fame of England's Excellency.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
AT LONDON Imprinted by F. K. for Humphrey Lownes. 1599   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AND MY SINGULAR GOOD LORD, CHARLES EARL OF Nottingham, Baron of Effingham, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, Lord high Admiral of England, Ireland and Wales, etc. and one of her majesties most Honourable privy Council.  
YOur late favourable entertainment (Right Honourable) vouchsafed to this my hard favoured Child, is now my encouragement again to present her to you, clad in this new habit. She hath cause to shroud herself under Honour's wing: for so rude is her habit, and so mean her parentage; that were not such patronage a safe refuge to her, when the malicious shall persecute her: I fear she would be accounted a rogue; and for wandering abroad in so unfavourable a time, be scourged with the whip of disgrace, and lashed with the sharp rod of every Critics censure.  
Those many favours, which you honourably extended to my father, whilst he lived, and still continue to his name and children; claim a far greater testimony of gratefulness, than the greatest of my small endeavours can afford: notwithstanding, accept a dutiful mind, witnessed in a rude sort; and when Time shall with some of his feathers, better clothe my scarce-feathered Muse: she will better testify how highly she honours and admires your worth. In mean time pardon her present unworthiness, and once again take in good worth this mine unworthy present: whereof, having reason to rest persuaded, I leave further to interrupt your serious affairs, and so humbly take my leave.  
Your Honours in all duty, Peter Pett.   

To the Reader.  
TO entreat their favour that cannot be discourteous, were superfluous: to crave favour of the churlish, were frivolous. What thou art, I know not; but if thou meanest to peruse my Muse's labour, expect no great matters, lest thy expectation be frustrated. It were folly to tell thee of my weakness, having laid it open to every eye: neither will I excuse it to thee; because I am ignorant of thy disposition. I am no Satire to scourge thee, if thou snarl at me: yet fear I not the most piercing fang of peevish envy; being sufficiently armed against all censures, and therefore not to be harmed by thy censure.  
Peter Pett.   

TIMES JOURNEY TO SEEK HIS DAUGHTER TRVETH.  

AMidst some gra●er studies taking pause,  
To give my tired spirits some delight,  
And to refresh my weary mind, because  
Sometime repose is very requisite:  
That I might take a little breathing flight,  
I left a while to trace Philosophy,  
To please myself with harmless Poetry.   

With harmless Poetry, not otherwise,  
Lascivious writing doth not please my vain▪  
For vain it is, such matters to devise,  
As nothing else but note of folly gain,  
A bootless labour, and a fruitless pain,  
Offensive to the wise, and liked of none,  
But those which in their hearts make Follies throne.   

Disgrace to Poets commendable Art,  
Making that loathed, which every man would love,  
If love, and Cupid's arrows wanton smart,  
Were not the greatest motive that doth move  
Poets their wits, in sugared verse to prove.  
Ah, that to prove their wits most excellent,  
To such base means their wills should so be bend.   

Love is too base a Subject now to write of,  
Common to every ballad-makers time,  
And far unfit for Scholars to indite of,  
For they should hold more precious their time;  
And sure there cannot be a greater crime,  
Then to misspend time in so lewd a wise,  
As if we did the price thereof despise.   

For do not men the precious time misspend,  
Whilst they discourse of loves and lovers ●one?  
That cannot sort to any other end,  
Then make the heart of man soul Vices throne,  
That of itself to lewdness is so prone:  
Adding to smoking flax a burning flame,  
Which at first touch doth set on fire the same.   

Not such was my intent or purposed drift,  
Pleasing to me was always Poesy:  
A soule-infused fair celestial gift,  
In ravishing with heavenly harmony.  
But Love untunes that pleasant melody,  
Makes sweetest tunes to jar and disagree,  
Makes Art a thrall, but Art loves to be free.   

And therefore when I meant in measured style,  
To please myself and other not offend,  
I thought love-matters over base and vile,  
Nor of such toys to write I did intend,  
But other ways my cogitations bend,  
Three special sorts of writ I then did find,  
All which I well approved in my mind.   

The first is moral, and that sort indeed  
To carp at Vices profitable is:  
To show amongst good corn the noisome weed,  
And tell the World wherein it doth amiss:  
For though the World doth little count of this,  
Yet he that herein well employs his pen,  
Well pleaseth God, and merits praise with men.   

The second sort is called historical,  
That tells of sundry lamentable fates,  
Declares the life, the death, the pomp, the fall,  
Of Emperors, and mghty Potentates,  
Of Princes, and of other Magistrates:  
And this in it much profit doth contain,  
By others harms to warn them that remain.   

The third sort that is allegorical;  
Which under Metaphors, and covert phrase,  
Proposeth Virtue to the view of all,  
Clad in a rich attire: that whilst men gaze  
Upon the same, and on her beauty's blaze:  
Unwares they learn to know fair virtues price,  
And see the foul deformity of Vice.   

And he that in this kind can temper well  
Profit with sweet delight: unto his praise  
Well may we yield, and say he doth excel,  
And for his skill his fame to heaven up raise.  
So may we speak of Spe●sers golden lays,  
Whom never any man could equal yet,  
That in our tongue hath as a Poet writ.   

On these three sorts whilst I did ruminate,  
As taking respite which of them to choose,  
That (when I should myself thus recreate)  
That little time I might not vainly use,  
Nor such a precious gift of God abuse:  
I found my wit more dull than it was wont,  
And mine 〈◊〉 seemed very blunt.   

Therefore I left my melancholy cell,  
To set an edge on mine invention,  
Straight went I to a walk that liked me well,  
That I might make some disposition  
In order, of those things I thought upon.  
For many thoughts (Maze-lyke) the mind enclose  
Confusedly, till order them dispose.   

No sooner to this walk I entered then▪  
But that a Subject for my Muse I found,  
And presently 'gan fit it for my pen:  
For when I marked how cheerfully the ground,  
The herbs, the plants▪ the trees about me round,  
Praised their 〈◊〉 in their several kind,  
Thus I began to reason in my mind:   

All creatures of th● Eternal God but 〈◊〉,  
In several sorts do glorify his name●  
Things dumb, and ●●●●ely senseless (as they ca●)  
Yet seem to praise and magnify the same▪  
Is it not then an 〈…〉  
That man should be 〈…〉  
Of whom God 〈◊〉 him Lord 〈…〉   

Each tree doth seem ten thousand tongues to have,  
With them to laud the Lord omnipotent:  
Each leaf, that with Winds gentle breath doth wave, Seems as a tongue to speak to this intent,  
In language admirably excellent.  
Leaves better tongues, than tongues that leave their duty,  
And love to talk of nothing but of beauty.   

The sundry sorts of fragrant flowers do seem,  
Sundry discourses God to glorify,  
Far sweeter volumes may we them esteem,  
Then such as handle with diversity,  
The trains and stratagems of fantasy:  
For all these creatures in their several sort,  
Praise God, and man unto the same exhort.   

But man (his nature is so strangely dull,  
And yet so prone to wickedness and sin)  
As that (unless God forcibly him pull,  
And pluck him from himself) he'll near begin  
To think on God, that doth enclose him in  
With hourly blessings, (for man is so rude,  
He renders nothing but ingratitude.)   

On this I thought to set my Muse on work,  
And on this matter largely to dilate:  
To show how in man's heart this vice doth lurk,  
And to upbraid each sort and each estate,  
That for God's benefits are so ingrate.  
As thus I thought, I plain me thought did hear,  
A voice that seemed to be uttered near.   

Distinct it was, and thus it plainly spoke:  
Take hold of Time when Time approacheth ●ye,  
For time doth very little tarriance make,  
With soaring wings▪ he soon from thee will fly.  
No sooner was this spoke, but by and by  
Time stood by me, and lest he should be gone,  
I stayed him with this sudden question.   

Time whether dost thou hast? tell me I pray,  
And (if thou wilt) I'll thee accompany:  
No (answered he) for Time must not delay,  
Thou wantest wings with aged Time to fly.  
This said, away he turned: but suddenly,  
I took fast hold upon his front of hair,  
And strait he mounted me into the Air.   

Wherein I was deceived: for I thought  
Only by force, to make him intermit  
A while his course: but that availed nought,  
Nought forceth it him to enforce a whit;  
For Time doth always hold delay unfit.  
But when I saw myself deluded so,  
I prayed old Time, that he would let me go.   

No (answered Time) for sith I have thee here,  
Thou shalt be now old Time's companion:  
And Time shall make unto thy Muse appear,  
A Subject fit for her to vary on:  
Then seat thyself mine aged back upon,  
And take thou note of that which thou shalt see,  
As in this journey thou shalt pass with me.   

Content (said I) and up myself I reared,  
In hope to see some accident most strange:  
Time had so cheered me that I no thing feared,  
And therefore cared not whether Time did range:  
Nor did it grieve me, that he made me change  
My first intent to write in former strain,  
For that I meant it to resume again   

But now I mean to tell what then I saw,  
(Laying aside that purpose for a while.)  
Things that perhaps might admiration draw,  
If I could cunningly compose my style,  
Or eloquently my designments file;  
Herein my want I freely do confess,  
But from the matter I too much digress.   

Already had we left fair Europe's clime,  
And lost the sight of England's watery sands:  
Now o'er the Ocean's main 'gan flitter Time,  
And strait we were in view of other lands,  
perceiving ken of other sundry strands,  
Aswell of islands as of continent;  
The sight whereof my mind did much content.   

Of sundry wonders I could make report,  
That in these places Time did show to me:  
Of savage men, and of a thousand sort  
Of monsters, which (but that I them did see)  
I would have thought impossible to be.  
Some brutish beasts I saw in form of men,  
Of stranger shape than can be showed by p●●.   

But one thing did I mark especially:  
As Time flew on with swift and winged speed,  
Great multitudes, did still together 〈◊〉,  
With such unwonted sight their eyes to ●eede:  
And many knew not what Time was in deed,  
But as they gazed on him, they changed were:  
The manner how you presently shall hear.   

Young babes that sucked at their mother's breast,  
That late in tender womb did them conceive,  
Can in their laps no longer take their rest,  
But presently their mother's bosom leave;  
And in a moment do they strength receive,  
That but even now could neither go nor stand,  
And were enwrapped in their cradle band.   

And straight they grow unto perfection,  
In wit, in strength, and every other thing:  
But this their prime is very quickly gone;  
Time unto them a sudden change doth bring.  
For as he further flies with nimble wing,  
Their glory presently gins to quail,  
Their senses to decay, their strength to fail.   

And then become they as they were at first:  
For ere that Time was yet gone out of sight,  
Children again, and fit to be nursed;  
Then otherwise they were, betest of might;  
Nothing was left them for their life's delight.  
And Time no sooner was quite fled away,  
But presently they were transformed to clay.   

Some also lost the sight of flying Time  
In chiefest strength: for Time oft made such haste,  
That when they were amidst their chiefest prime,  
He left them: then their glory was disgraced,  
Their life was perioded, their strength defaced.  
Their springing flowers, Time cropped uncourteously,  
As he did from them so untimely fly.   

So have I seen a lillie-colonrd ro●e;  
(A bud at morn, more beautiful at noon)  
Clad in as glorious vest●res as are those,  
That do intobe the siluer-cloathed Moon:  
When as the same is plucked over soon,  
The beauty fades, it withereth and dies,  
Though clad in Flora's fairest liveries.   

And every sort of men (what ere they were,  
Of what so ere condition or estate)  
That thus on Time stood gazing every where,  
When Time was fled, then came their dr●ery fate,  
For to recall him then it was too late:  
And many knew him not, till he was gone,  
When for his want they made their dying moan.   

This seemed strange to me, and made me ask  
Of aged Time how these things came to pass:  
Time answering said, it's my appointed task.  
And, for all flesh is like to fading grass,  
And man's state far more brittle than is glass:  
In me life doth begin, in me it ends,  
And on me as my servant it attends.   

For ever since the everliving God  
Gave me beginning at the first to be,  
He charged me no where to make a●od,  
And charged Life that it should follow me:  
Hence do proceed the changes that you see.  
Time being fled, Life is concluded ever,  
Longer than Time stays, Life continues never.   

Yet thousand thousands are, that do not know  
The mighty power God to Time doth give:  
Though Time be able soon to overthrow  
The strongest thing, that on the earth doth live.  
But that which principally doth me grieve  
Is man's contempt of me: and this indeed  
Makes me to fly from them with swifter speed.   

For otherwise perhaps I would advise me,  
And though I needs must hast, yet would I not  
Make so much haste, if they did not despise me:  
But when I see on them contempts foul blot,  
So great a stain, and such a graceless spot,  
The hare ne'er faster fleeth when she's pursued,  
Then I do fly from those that are so rude,   

By this, Time having left our hemisphere,  
With Phoebus' fiery steeds kept equal pace:  
Now to mine eyes another did appear,  
Wherein the Sun did take another race,  
As in this our Horizon he doth trace:  
Nor doth he ever rest as Poets feign;  
That course once done, he strait returns again.   

All this time, had I not of Time inquired,  
Toward what place his winged course he bent:  
Which thing because to know I much desired,  
I 'gan to question him of his intent,  
And prayed him tell me to what place he went:  
I long (said I) good father Time to know,  
Whether thou fliest now, and hastest so.   

I fly (said Time) and restless never cease,  
About the World, and as thou seest the Son,  
Even so my son doth Time: nor doth decrease  
His force, but as when first his course begun,  
It shall continue till his course be done.  
For time shall come, when Time himself must die,  
And that time now approacheth very nigh.   

But until then, this course I still must keep:  
For to this day I near repose did take,  
Nor since the world began did ever sleep,  
(For then my charge imposed I should forsake)  
Until my death I ever must awake.  
Thus have I done five thousand years, and more,  
And till I leave to be, thus must I sore.   

But when I thee did my companion take,  
I meant to lead thee to the house of Fame,  
Where I must shortly inquisition make,  
For a pure virgin of unblemished name:  
Whose great perfection (though some dare to blame)  
Is admirable, and beyond compare,  
Most excellent, most exquisite, and rare.   

I mean unspotted Truth, whom many deem  
My daughter: and because when she was young  
I fostered her, they therefore do esteem,  
(Yet falsely) that from my loins she is sprung.  
But Truth (though wicked men she live among)  
Is of no mortal powers borne or bred;  
Bu● called my child, cause I her nourished.   

And though her foster-father Time must die,  
When once his race appointed is expired;  
Yet Truth shall ever live immortally.  
And shortly shall her beauty be admired,  
And every where the same shall be desired.  
Then they which have so much profaned her name,  
Shall reap disgrace, & well deserved shame.   

And for I know that Fame can well declare,  
To me where my supposed daughter is:  
To her I therefore now do make repair.  
And when Fame hath acquainted me with this,  
I think thou then wilt nothing think amiss,  
Thou ca●●st with me: that thou mayst make it known,  
Where Truth remains, and where her face is shown.   

But lo, I now discern far of the ken,  
Of Fame's great castle; whence she takes her flight,  
To trumpet sundry news in ears of men▪  
Some of great moment, others of delight,  
And others tragical, which do affright.  
Then 'gan we nearer to the 〈◊〉 to draw,  
And I will tell you what I further saw.   

Amongst th' Antipodes there is a hill,  
Which far beyond the clouds itself doth stretch.  
And far beyond that region, which still  
Is filled with vapours which the Sunbeams fetch,  
And from the earth exhale. That monstrous wretch,  
Which 'gainst the heavens did wage persumptuous war,  
Is not over whelmed with such an hill by far.   

No not Olympus may with it compare,  
Which far above the middle region goes,  
And penetrates the liquid clouds that are  
About the same, and do the same enclose:  
Though on the same (as Pliny saith) there grows,  
Of tender plants, and fruitful trees great store;  
That are so high, no cold can make them hore.   

On highest top of this great hill there stood,  
A goodly Palace framed large and wide:  
At foot of this same hill, a spacious wood,  
That ●emd this mountain in on every side.  
Moreover in this Palace I espied,  
A thousand windows open every way,  
And many doors near shut by night or day.   

At every one of which there thrungd a press,  
Of rumours, and reports: Some of debates,  
Some told of wars, and others blabbed of peace.  
Some talk tof Empyers, and of ruined states;  
And some of men whom Fortune's malice mates,  
Such a confusion never did I see,  
In one conclusion did not two agree.   

Upon this castles top of crystal glisse  
Stood a fair turre●: where Fame had 〈…〉  
There sat she, and in hand a 〈◊〉 of brass●  
She held, and therewith to the world made known,  
The sundry news, and tales of every one  
Of those Reports, that to her castle came;  
And as they b●ought them, she dispersed the 〈◊〉.   

Her trumpets sound was loud, and very 〈◊〉:  
Reporting every matter very clear;  
Which when it once was sounded forth, did fill  
The wood which to that hill adjoined near;  
In which a thousand tattling Echoes were,  
That iterated every uttered sound,  
And made the same throughout the world rebound▪   

And even as many streams (that join at last)  
From many sundry parts do meet together,  
Till all in self same current 〈◊〉 on fast,  
Unto the wide vast boundless Ocean▪ whether  
Their course them leads (for they are charged 〈◊〉 her)  
So all reports flow swiftly unto Fame,  
Who to the world's great Sea strait sends the ●ame▪   

Now aged Tim● nigh to this castle drew,  
Where all these things I orderly did note,  
(As in so short a ●pace I could them view,  
For else I might have had more things to quote)  
And now that Time about the ●ame did float,  
He asked some Reports that thronged there,  
If they could tell where Truth his daughter were.   

One answered, she was of late in Spayre:  
Another said, she was exiled from Fra●●ce:  
Another said, she no where did remain:  
Another said some her did countenance:  
Another said, so tragic was her chance,  
Her sacred body was of life bereaven,  
And her sweet soul fled unto God in heaven.   

When Time saw in them such uncertainty,  
Of them no longer would he thus inquire:  
But (soaring up) he unto Fame did high,  
Who at his sudden coming did admire.  
But her Time earnestly did then desire,  
To fly with him, because he might not stay,  
And many things he must unto her say.   

Strait Fame attired her in her winged array,  
And from her back laid down her costly weed:  
And for Time would admit of no delay,  
Time flew before, Fame followed with speed;  
And as she flew, it seemed she did reed,  
What you shall hear anon; mean time give eat,  
And what first passed you shall in order hear.   

At last Fame overtook us, and then said,  
God save thee Time: what wouldst thou Fame command?  
(Regreeting made) Time instantly her prayed,  
That she would make known to him out of hand,  
Where Truth his daughter was, and in what land  
She now remained: I have not seen her long,  
And I do fear (saith he) she suffereth wrong.   

Knowest thou not that (then answered to him Fam●)  
Which throughout every land my trumpets ro●e,  
Hath sounded forth, and hath dispersed the same:  
No accident that happened heretofore,  
What ere it were, have I reported more.  
Doth Truth her face so much in England mask,  
That Time of me should such a question ask?   

No (Time) her beauties are not hid I know,  
No more than is the Sun in clearest Sky:  
When as no gloomy cloud lets him to show  
His golden light; but thou so swift dost fly,  
As that truths mansion thou canst not descry,  
Mark and I'll tell thee where thy daughter is,  
And make thee glad to hear thy daughter's bliss.   

When Henry lived Truths far-renown friend,  
In Englan● highly then she honoured was:  
And so continued she till thou didst end  
His life, and worthy Edward's life alas.  
Then Envy so her purpose brought to pass,  
England disgraced all her glory, and  
Misled by Envy banished truth her land.   

All comfortless, sad and disconsolate,  
Poo●e Truth oppressed to take her passage hide:  
She took her bark alone, and (scorning mate,  
Where she was so abused) was brought with tide.  
At last into the Ocean gulf so wide:  
Where many waves her little bark did cross,  
And many billows bitterly it tos●e.   

And fain she would swift flying Time have seen,  
To him of this her sorrow to complain  
(Now banished, late honoured as a Queen)  
But when she saw her wishes were but vain,  
She left to wish, yet could not grief restrain.  
At last I chancing nigh that way to fly,  
Her thus oppressed did I then espy.   

Her cheeks were blubbered, her hair was torn●  
Her garments ●ent, and all besprent with tears,  
Her hands she wrung, and looked all forlorn,  
Her heart was full of agonies and fears,  
And every while her eyes to heaven she ●eares.  
Soon as she saw me, she did comfort take:  
And from her passions did herself awake.   

She asked if I could tell her, where Time were:  
I answered, that I had not seen him long;  
But that I marveled to see her there.  
Fair Lady Truth, who hath done you this wrong,  
(Said I) but grief than ●e●●ered her tongue.  
At last she (sobbing) said she was misused,  
Injustly, and 〈◊〉 abused.   

Then offered I myself on her t'attend,  
That if I could, I might her somewhat cheer:  
But on the sudden did from heaven descend  
A glorious Angel, bright and very clear,  
Whom God (for that he holdeth Truth most-deare)  
Did send to comfort her in this distress,  
Lest too much grief, would her too much oppress.   

And thus he spoke: sweet Goddess without spot,  
Fear not fair virgin, be not so dismayed:  
Think not that God hath sacred Truth forgot,  
Or that he'll suffer thee to be betrayed:  
Cheer up thyself let passion be allayed.  
Most pleasing news, God now by me hath sent thee,  
Which when thou knowest, I know it will content thee.   

Thine enemies in England now are dead;  
(For thy sake God hath made their lives but short)  
And England's crown set on a virgin's head,  
In whom of graces such a sort consort,  
That no tongue her perfections can report.  
Hast thither, and though England wronged thee,  
Thy wrongs redress Elizabeth will see.   

This said, he takes the guiding of the helm:  
And Truth rejoiced that she such comfort had,  
(Whom late a Sea of grief seemed to o'erwhelm)  
And now she was as joyful, and as glad,  
As she before was comfortless and sad:  
She thanked God for this great benefit,  
And back to England's shore her bark doth flit.   

I flew before, as swift as rolls the Sky:  
And on my trumpet did I sound aloud,  
That Truth approached▪ presently did hy,  
To every shore, a press, and thronging crowd,  
To see where Truth's bark would itself inshroude.  
Elizabeth no sooner heard of this,  
But that she said she had obtained her wish.   

For when Truth was 〈◊〉, this matchless Queen,  
Did her embrace, and 〈◊〉 graciously:  
The people which not lo●g her face had se●●e,  
Witnessed their joy by an applauding cry,  
And fair Eliza thanked God heartily,  
That T●●th again in safety was returned,  
For whose long absence she so long had mourned.   

And as when Tully was recalled again  
From wrongful banishment, Rome did rejoice:  
In every street there followed him a train,  
To welcome him with glad and joyful voice,  
Of whom they thought their Gods made special choice  
To do Rome good; so England weclomed Truth,  
And made her quite forget her former ruth.   

And now with chaste Elizabeth she dwells,  
Highly adored, and admired of all:  
My trump abroad her rare perfection tells,  
Whereby in many lands she holds the ball,  
And multitudes are subject to her call:  
For though in England she hath residence,  
In other lands she hath prehemince.   

And thus good Time I unto thee have told,  
Where sacred Truth thy daughter's entertained:  
No point in this my tale can be controlled;  
No sentence in the same is false or feigned;  
Upon sure grounds the same is all sustained.  
And that no place of doubting may remain,  
Behold a witness to confirm it plain.   

See here a 〈◊〉 from thy daughter's 〈◊〉:  
Who for she heard of 〈…〉,  
The brood of E●●y that most loathsome else,  
Did spread of England in malicious sort:  
That she might me from blazing it dehort:  
(Lest I should give th●m credence, to prevent me)  
Of England's Excellence, this writ she sent me.   

Wherein thou mayst confirmed plainly ●ee,  
By testimony of Truth's sacred pen,  
All which I now have uttered to thee,  
And daily sounds my trump in ea●e● of men.  
Hear thou this letter read good Time, and then  
judge thou of Fame, as thou shalt find just cause●  
Fault her, if she have spoke one faulty clause.   

This was the letter which I said before,  
It seemed Fame did read on as she flew,  
And to o'er take swift-paced Time did so're:  
And here in following terms it doth ensue,  
Declaring Fame's report to be most true,  
And with it witnessing the great renown.  
Of glorious England▪ and Eliza's crown▪    

TRUTH'S LETTER TO FAME OF ENGLAND'S EXCELLENCY.  

ADmired Fame, by all men honoured:  
Thou due rewarder of all great deserts:  
Thou that dost make men live when they are dead;  
Thou cherisher of honour-breathing hearts:  
Parent of valour: Nurse of sacred Arts;  
Take thou a little truce with false surmises,  
And mark what Truth thee to report advises.   

Speak thou of England, and her excellence:  
Strain thou aloft thy trumpets roaring blast:  
Tell thou to all her great pre-eminence;  
And (as through every land thou fliest fast)  
Let England's worth be never overpast,  
That all the World may wonder much at this,  
That such a wonder in the World there is.   

And first declare in what an high account,  
She holdeth Truth's most sacred deity:  
Her kindness now to me doth far surmount,  
Her late unkindness showed to me, when I  
Was forced into banishment to fly:  
The chief efficient of which direful woe,  
Was cruel Envy my malicious foe.   

But now, no 〈…〉  
(What ere they were in age's ●ou●● of 〈◊〉,  
Amongst whom I in greatest honour 〈◊〉)  
Did e●er prise me 〈◊〉 a higher rate,  
Then England doth, or more increase my state.  
No nation 〈…〉 more,  
Then glorious Engl●nd doth 〈◊〉 now adore.   

Thou sawst how she did welcome me, when as  
Upon her shore I was again arrived:  
Thou sawst how great my entertainment was,  
(Though Envy late had me of right deprived,  
And to disgrace me stratagems contrived)  
But I have greater arguments to prove,  
The greatness of her kindness and her love.   

For when my former grief was quite dispersed,  
And thought of former wrong far cha'sd away,  
My graces (which with clouds were hidden erst)  
'Gan to disclose, and suddenly display  
Themselves, and all their beauty to be wray  
In great perfection, which when England saw,  
Great admiration from her did it draw.   

Astonished with my graces most divine,  
(For Truth, of Truth, may justly speak the truth)  
And ravished with fair Truth's rare beauties shine;  
It grieved her that my so grievous ruth,  
She so had suffered: and to me she su●h,  
That I no longer would retain in mind,  
My late disgrace which proved her too unkind.   

Which easily obtained, she promised me,  
And with a solemn oath herself she bond:  
That I should presently perceive and see,  
How glad she was, she had my favour found.  
Immediately in self same minute's stound,  
Into my hands she freely did deliver  
Two elves that were my vowed enemies ever.   

Envy the one, and Superstition  
The other was: both these two did procure,  
Those injuries poor Truth to fall upon,  
I mean those wrongs which I did late endure:  
For so fair England did me then assure,  
They my disastres and distresses bred,  
By their sole means I so was injured.   

Envy she told good England that I sought,  
To cirumvent her by some treachery:  
And so to bring her glorious state to nought.  
For sure she said (there was no remedy)  
If still she entertained me courteously,  
Her glory of necessity must fall,  
And all her pomp be perioded withal.   

And Superstition she herself invested,  
In a rich habit; which was not her own:  
For well she knew that she should be detested,  
If what she were indeed it should be known,  
And so might all her drifts be overthrown.  
She decked herself with many a precious gem,  
And on her head she set a diadem.   

And thus to England came she, and to her  
Said she was Truth, and Truth did but deceive her▪  
And she with Envy kept so foul a stir,  
That England feared I would of life bereave her:  
For still they told her, I near meant to leave her,  
Till I had made her stat● most miserable,  
Which only Truth makes truly admirable.   

All this did England unto me declare,  
And said these twain her sutly did beguile,  
(For Superstition durst with me compare,  
And Envy robbed me of my rightful style,  
To grace therewith her mate that wretch so vile.)  
Fair Truth (saith she) know surely this for truth,  
Had not these been, near should have been thy ruth.   

Their subtlety simplicity abused,  
And by their craft they did me over reach:  
Or else thou near shouldst have been so misused:  
But now these hellish caitiffs I will ●each,  
What 'tis betwixt thee and me to make a breach.  
For now I know them, and here captives have them,  
Appoint their dooms, not all the World shall save them.   

The which when I did to herself refer,  
And told her Truth doth not delight in blood:  
She said that Envy she would quick inter,  
And that same other wretch foe to my good,  
Should starving pine, and die for want of food,  
Thus Truth (saith she) I will revenge thy wrong,  
And for my fault make full amends ere long.   

This said, she plucked from Superstitions back,  
My glorious ornaments, and gorgeous weeds:  
For mine they were, and to supply her lack,  
She stole them from me: and such lewd misdeeds  
It is by which, her progeny still speeds.  
Thus stripped, a foul deformed hag she seemed,  
I wondered how she could be ●o esteemed.   

Then strait she led them both unto their doom,  
And thus she used Truth's greatest enemies:  
Though Superstitions Son still live at Rome,  
Yet (for my many grievous injuries,  
And for she wrought me such indignities)  
Herself was starved, and Envy felt such pain,  
As she deserved; though still her brood remain.   

Thus England dealt for me, and more than so;  
Her love yet further did itself extend:  
She did not only thus revenge my woe,  
But also 'gainst my foes my right defend:  
Listen good Fame, and with attention lend  
Thine ear unto my tale, whilst I declare,  
Her love to me, her kindness, and her care.   

Proud Superstitions Son, soon as he knew,  
His mother's death was only for my sake:  
He gathered an host a mighty crew,  
With which he meant 'gainst England war to make,  
And forcibly me from her hands to take.  
So great and puissant his forces were,  
He thought her heart would be o'rewhelmd with fear.   

For with him joined was his cursed sister,  
That odious and notorious whore of Babet:  
Her mother's death she knew, and likewise missed her  
Aswell as he. And with her such a ●able  
Of paramours she had, as seemed able  
The greatest state on earth to ruinated,  
And bring to greatest pomp a tragic fate.   

Thus manned began to manage forth his war,  
And proudly sent to England this defiance,  
That she should look for enemies from far,  
If still with Truth she kept so great alliance:  
Such war in ancient times did wage those giants,  
That 'gainst the heavenly powers as Poet's wright,  
Opposed themselves and their presuming might.   

Yet (if she would deliver to his hand,  
Truth that he might on her revengement take,)  
He sent her word he would not hurt her land:  
But if she did this proffer made forsake,  
Then should his wrath itself up-rouse and wake,  
To which he thought she could make no resistance,  
Though God from heaven should give her his assistance.   

These menaces not feared her a whit,  
She weighed them not but bid him do his worst,  
In spite of him Truth should in safety sir;  
(She said) nor should a monster so acucrst,  
Make her to satiate his bloody thirst.  
Truth love I well (saith she) and well I know,  
Truth's champions God will shield from overthrow.   

This answer made Truth● enemies enraged,  
And foaming poison swore that Truth should die,  
Or England● li●e should be for hers engaged:  
Not knowing Truth ●ust live immorally,  
And live to see the cu●sed progeny  
Of Superstition, consumed quite,  
Though now against me they are bold to fight.   

Towards England strait they high in furious haste,  
Intending to destroy 〈◊〉,  
To leave her land all desolate and waste,  
And bring herself into captivity▪  
And thus resolved, i● swarms they 〈…〉▪  
The Devil lent them 〈…〉:  
But God from 〈…〉   

When England heard my foes 〈…〉,  
Together gathered she her 〈…〉  
To fight for Truth whom 〈…〉  
Meaning to show no pity, ●o ●emo●e,  
To them that sought 〈…〉  
Away with me she hasts my foes to 〈◊〉,  
In little kindness m●●ning them to greet▪   

At last they met in a large spacious plain,  
Wholly unlike in show: their troops did pa●●e▪  
For multitude, the drops in showers of 〈◊〉▪  
The other sort was nothing so alas,  
Compared to them▪ like some small ●idge of grass  
In field of come: or more for my intent,  
As seems least isle, to larg●st conti●ent.   

As those small troops with which the 〈◊〉  
Did brave and dare Darins in the field,  
Compared to those o'er who●e he conquest wo●,  
(When proud 〈…〉 ●as to yield,  
Ma●ger the force he had himself to shield)  
Such England had, compared in the power,  
That now prepared was her to 〈◊〉.   

Or as thos● little force●, once opposed  
Against great Xerxes' navy) which was thought  
Impossible by force to be 〈…〉  
Or unto any hazard to be brought)  
Such England had, compared with their● that sought  
To bring her state to ruin for my sake;  
Because she would not Truth● defence 〈◊〉.   

Yet England 〈…〉,  
Nor terrefide by their 〈…〉:  
Courageously her 〈◊〉 she forw●●d led,  
And did herself midst th●ckest th●ong intrude,  
That with their 〈◊〉 her ha●● 〈◊〉 be imbrued.  
Strange that a 〈◊〉 should so valiant be,  
And such an anci●●● 〈◊〉 as is 〈◊〉.   

Backed with such help as I to her could yield,  
At the first on ●er, and first furious shock,  
So fiercely she he● brandished blade did wield;  
That they who first her little force did mock,  
And thought, they might their hearts securely rock  
On sleep, were made from 〈◊〉 to run, and stray,  
Her force, and feircene● did the● so dismay.   

But ●o, a new supply did them renew▪  
For as they thus were daunted and dismayed,  
An host of fiends we might approaching view▪  
That towards us came with enlignes all displayed,  
Fearing their kingdom should be sore decayed,  
If England o'er Truth's enemies should prevail,  
They hastened thus, to make her courage quail.   

But God (which always doth Truth's cause defend)  
Our prayers to him most benignly hard,  
And down from heaven he graciously did send,  
Legions of Angels, that they might me guard.  
And England from all dangers safely ward.  
So soon as England saw, God helped her so▪  
She cared nor for 〈◊〉, no● any foe,   

Strait Superstitions Son she doth dismount,  
From of his palfrey where he proudly sa●e,  
Commanding him to render an account  
Of his presumption; and to tell her what  
Made him so bold whilst this I wondered a●▪  
His sister managing a monstrous beast,  
With murder and with blood her hate did feast.   

Which (when I saw) to her incaged I hide,  
But presently she trembling turned her back▪  
In no wise she my presence would abide.  
I followed amain her monster's track,  
Nor did I mean my swift pursuit to slack.  
Still did she run, to shun my fierce encounter,  
For well she knew I did in force surmount her.   

As flees the sable Night from days approach,  
Fearing to look 〈…〉 in the f●ce,  
(For when 〈…〉 her silver ●oach,  
Night trips apace, and leaves to her the place)  
So fled this str●●pet from me in thi● 〈◊〉,  
Nor durst 〈…〉 to look on me,  
But posting 〈…〉   

I followed her to 〈…〉,  
Thinking to overtake her, but in 〈◊〉▪  
Which place 〈◊〉 it my 〈◊〉 and hates)  
Did make me presently 〈…〉  
Or else this strumpet had not 〈◊〉 vn●l●y●e.  
Back I retu●● 〈◊〉 England, whom I found  
'mongst slaughtered 〈…〉   

For Superstitio●s 〈…〉,  
Yet wounded so that presently he died,  
Or seemed to die: 〈…〉  
And closely got himself 〈…〉  
Repenting that 〈…〉  
Disrobed, and naked, was he glad 〈…〉  
That 〈…〉   

His forces also all dispersed 〈◊〉,  
And cut in pieces, or else 〈…〉  
Nothing but bloody 〈…〉  
And thus for Truth 〈…〉  
Aided by God, 〈…〉  
To 〈…〉  
And say● 〈…〉.   

This victory thus happily obtained,  
Triumphant back with Englan● 〈◊〉 I led,  
Hoping she now had firmly me regained:  
A crown imperial placed she on my head,  
And promised I should not be 〈◊〉;  
Though with her blood she did revenge my wrong,  
For well she knew that God would make her strong.   

And now these forty years I have remained  
With her in honour, and in majesty:  
And as when she at first me entertained,  
(I mean first after my great misery)  
She welcomed me (thou knowest) most lovingly;  
So still her love continueth the same,  
And still 〈◊〉 doth adore Truth's sacred name.   

And is not this good Fame an excellence?  
Did ever any nation more for me?  
Or stand more stoutly to my rights defence?  
And righteous quarrel? Surely if it be  
An excellence, to 〈◊〉 Truth: then she  
Fame's approbation deserveth well;  
For in this excellence 〈◊〉 doth excel.   

Of England's matchless Queen make next report,  
A matchless the ame, and 〈◊〉 fitting Fame:  
A matter of high moment, great import:  
Elizabeth no sooner 〈◊〉 thou name,  
But Envies brood will hide their heads for shame,  
Not daring once her worth to fault or blame,  
When worthily thou shalt declare the same.   

Now could I wish some sacred Muse's skill,  
In sugared tunes her excellence to tell:  
Then should my tale with admiration fill  
Thine ears, to hear how much she doth excel:  
For Excellence itself in her doth dwell.  
What should I say? Ah I want words to say,  
What one she is, her graces to display.   

Religion hath in her such interest,  
For her sake Truth entirely doth she love,  
And such possession in her sacred breast  
Hath Piety, that unto God above,  
Her thoughts and her affections soaring move:  
As if she did terrestrial things despise,  
And scorned the world and worldly things to prize.   

Strange in a Monarch of such majesty:  
For human nature is so frail by kind;  
That being once advanced, by and by  
God we forget, no● will retain in mind  
Those benefits from him we still do find.  
But she of honour and of dignity,  
Maketh a step therewith to mount on high.   

As towers aloftie Eagle, still alo●●▪  
And doth to take a lower flight desdaine,  
When as to pierce the clouds she seemeth 〈◊〉,  
As if she sought some sacred seat to gain,  
Amongst the Star●es in glory to remain:  
Even so Eliza strives aloft to mount,  
And of these base things makes none account.   

True, prince-ennobling, faite celestial grace:  
Infused by God himself into the mind:  
Enforcing nature to resign her place,  
That otherwise is of herself inclined:  
Happy are they from God such favour find;  
Ah happy, yea thrice happy sure are those,  
Whose minds thus graciously God doth dispose.   

And happy England, to whom God hath granted  
A Princess so religiously devoted:  
For else might Truth still have remained daunted,  
And England still on Superstition doted.  
And happily so soon had not been noted  
Her sly deceit, had not Eliza been,  
Whom God made chiefest means to make it seen.   

But ah I faint, I find myself too weak,  
To bear so great a burden, or to treat  
Of such rare excellence: though Truth can speak  
Nothing but truth, her task is over great,  
To tell Eliza's worth, or show the seat,  
That every special grace hath in her heart,  
In mind, in body, and in every part.   

Poets of Pallas oft reported much,  
And would Fame know what they did mean thereby?  
In ancient times ne'er lived any such,  
But they of England's Queen did prophecy.  
Compare their writings with her worth, to try  
The truth hereof, then shalt thou plainly see,  
Never was any Pallas, if not she.   

Pallas from jove himself drew her 〈◊〉,  
And is not Englands-Queene 〈◊〉 child?  
Else sure she could not 〈…〉  
So virtuous, religious, and mild,  
T' were hard if Truth should be herein beguiled.  
Immortal Pallas they declared to be,  
This Queen's immortal fallen 〈◊〉 did 〈◊〉.   

Pallas, those 〈…〉,  
For depth of wisdom, and lot 〈…〉,  
And do not 〈…〉,  
Waiting upon her as her handmaids still,  
To execute her pleasure and her ●ill▪  
Eliza they could not have 〈…〉,  
Wisdom and learning both support her 〈◊〉.   

Her Wisdom, is as far beyond compare,  
With most of weaker 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉 kind:  
As brightest 〈◊〉, that in the heavens are,  
Compared with 〈…〉 that ever shined:  
Or smallest glow-worms men by night do find.  
What talk I of her 〈◊〉? such Wisdom can,  
Be very hardly found in any man.   

Witness her government this forty years,  
So wonderful 〈◊〉, and ra●ely wise.  
Wise is the Pilot that his 〈◊〉 then steers  
In safety, when as greatest storms arise,  
And every billow mounteth to the Skies,  
And wise Eliza, that 〈…〉 so guides,  
In spite of sternest foes, ●e 〈◊〉 betides.   

Millions of billows menace the decay  
Of England's common wealth; yet not prevail,  
Nor can they make her give them any way,  
Or any whit to bear the lesser sail;  
They can not hurt her, for their force doth fail:  
God teacheth her, to rule the helm so well,  
Her bark doth break them, when they proudest swell.   

And as for Learning's admirable graces,  
Let Learning's self her learning testify:  
That pen which in this Subject largely traces,  
At full herein her worth to amplify,  
In many volumes need historify.  
Her excellence in excellentest Arts,  
Requires more skill, than Art to me imparts.   

In sacred letters she so skilful is,  
So expert, and so well experienced:  
Her match to find●● is difficult (Iwis)  
(I mean a prince that is so deeply red,  
In holy writ) for near was registered,  
By ancient Time in any monument,  
One prince in sacred skill more excellent.   

List her, but speak, or write what tongue she will,  
Of sacred languages, or other wise;  
Her talk, her style, appear so full of skill,  
As all the Muses did the same devise.  
But how alas can lines such worth comprise?  
Her talk, her style, are both celestial,  
Her wisdom, and her skill angelical,   

Pallas moreover they declared to be  
Victorious 〈…〉:  
And may not one mere blind perceive and see,  
They prophecide of England's princely head?  
All whose designs so prosperously have sped,  
She never went without the Victory,  
Since she obtained the English monarchy.   

Thus Fame (thou seest) that England's governess  
Is Pallas self, for Wisdom, learning, and  
For fair victorious fortunate success,  
In every action which she takes in hand.  
Oh happy common wealth, oh happy land.  
Pallas she is, and virtues Palace eke,  
What theme more glorious needeth Fa●e to seek?   

Her Fortitude, her never dauntedmind,  
Contemning troubles of adversity,  
(Which all that live sometime of 〈…〉)  
Her worthy princely 〈◊〉  
Her Temperance in calm prosperity▪  
Are such that no pen 〈◊〉  
Express the sam● or praise them 〈◊〉.   

And yet two 〈…〉 by,  
More than by all these that have yet been named.  
And as those two great 〈…〉,  
Which for the world's two 〈…〉 first were named,  
Whose presence 〈…〉;  
Even so E●iza is adorned by  
Her Chastity, and 〈…〉.   

Should I her Chastity strive to declare?  
So pure? so matchless so immaculate?  
So spotless? and so admirably rare?  
Near should I satisfy, or satiate  
My thirsty pen herein; nor moderate  
My wandering Muse, that would too tedious be,  
And so perhaps too troublesome to thee.   

This gem of price, this ornament of worth,  
This precious pearl, this ●ewell of esteem,  
I leave to thee at full to set it forth:  
That to the World Elizabeth may seem,  
Diana's self; and all the World may deem,  
The paragon of Chastity she is,  
Whom never any could excel in this.   

And yet her Equity it equalleth,  
And is as excellent and rare as that:  
honouring as much divine Elizabeth:  
For this makes also her admired at,  
as much as any prince that ever sat  
On Regal throne, and hard it is to name,  
One living now her equal in the same.   

justice and mercy she in balance layeth,  
The●e equally to counterpoise each other,  
And with them all her actions wisely weigheth,  
Not suffering one to overpoise another:  
So deals with dearest children tender mother.  
Her justice great, her mercy is as great,  
justice, and Mercy, both wait on her seat.   

There wait they, and when she determines aught,  
Both of them plead: and both their sentences  
She wisely makes together to be brought,  
And by them both deems what most fitting is:  
Taking away from them all diffrences;  
And so in one she both of them combines,  
And both together in one band conjoines.   

When justice strikes then Mercy tells her how,  
And shows her whom she with her sword should smite;  
Eliza made to Equity a vow,  
By heavens, by earth, and by her sceptres right,  
justice and mercy she would counite:  
Sacred and mild is that severity,  
When justice linked is with clemency.   

Canst thou this Excellence Fame too much prize?  
For England such a worthy prince to have?  
So learned? and so admirably wise?  
So virtuous? religious? and grave?  
So chaste? so just? so merciful to save?  
Speak what thou canst, for this, Truth dares aver,  
Thou canst not speak too worthily of her▪   

And next adjoin her worthy Senators:  
Declare their Wisdom, and their gravity:  
I mean Elizabeth's wise Counsellors,  
Supporting stays to England's policy,  
Upholding it as Atlas doth the sky.  
A special Excellence thou shouldst omit,  
If mention of their worth thou shouldst forget.   

For their grave wisdom, and wise gravity,  
Tell thou the world that they fage Cato's are:  
Nestor's in Counsel, when they prudently  
What best doth fit for England's good declare.  
For love unto their Country, them compare  
To Parents in their children's tender love,  
Which never from them will the same remove.   

And well thou mayst to Parents love compare  
Their tender love unto their nation:  
So fatherly it is, so great their care;  
It seemeth greater than th'affection,  
That Parents bear their best endeared Son,  
A happy blessed aristocraty,  
In such a farre-excelling Monarchy.   

I tell thee Fame their worthy names will grace  
Thy tale, and thy discourse in every ear:  
And therefore in thy swift continual race,  
Forget thou not the same: but let all hear,  
And let it to succeeding times appear,  
(As thou through every land shalt swiftly pass)  
How far herein fair England doth surpass.   

Next speak of England's dauntless Warriors,  
('Twill grace thy trump to grace them with her sound)  
Brave Martialists, victorious Conquerors,  
Worthy eternally to be renowned,  
And with immortal glory to be crowned.  
Tell their deserts, and fame-deseruing laud,  
That all the world may to their worth applauds.   

Upon their plumed crests doth Honour fit  
In glorious weeds, as great 〈◊〉,  
Instructing them as pupils what is fit,  
Whilst they to her obedience profess:  
In all their actions she is governess,  
Nor will they once from Honour's precepts swer●e,  
Whom whilst they serve, all honour they deserve.   

On Honour still attendeth Victory,  
To grace their deeds with prosperous event:  
Directing them to wield courageously,  
Their conquering blades to foes astonishment,  
(Who think Revenge herself 'mongst them is sent,  
Whilst England's worthies fury they do see,  
And feel their force from which they would be free.)   

Their looks, as lightning dwell foeman's eyes,  
Their hands forge thunder to their warlike look,  
Their sword from hands send foes their destinies,  
Writ by the Fates in never failing book:  
And Victory their swords ne'er yet forsook.  
Their looks, their swords, make enemies to wonder,  
Their looks are swords, their sword's 〈◊〉 them in sunder.   

How many time's Truth's battles have they fought,  
To tame my haughty adversaries pride?  
How many times (their drifts to period brought)  
Have I triumphant them returning spied,  
Charged with enemies' spoils on every side?  
Erect thou Fame due trophies to their praise,  
That meriteth to match thyself in days.   

Great Rome in pride and prime of her estate,  
Whom many histories do honour so,  
(Though now she is become degenerate)  
Was ne'er so glorious for her Scipio,  
For Caesar Pompey and for others more:  
As England is for her brave warriors,  
That are to these far●e far superiors.   

Fame-hon'red Anniaball, that could command  
Coy Fortune, and could have her at his beck.  
(When as it seemed she upon him faund,  
And humbled at his feet her scornful neck,  
As if she feared him to countercheck)  
Made ne'er so glorious Carthage lofty walls,  
As England is for many Hannibal's.   

Leave then to talk of famous Scipio,  
Report no more the worthy facts at all  
Of Caesar, Pompey, that excelled so,  
And once graced ancient Rome before her fall:  
Talk nor of Carthaginian Hannibal.  
At least (Fame) if thou needs their worth wilt praise,  
See that above them, thou these worthies raise.   

As when the radiant Sun shines in the sky,  
The lesser stars give place that graced the night:  
Even so (Fame) when as thou shalt worthily  
Declare their worths, that England's battles fight,  
Their splendour will obscure the others light.  
Eos may shine a time, but when the Sun  
Guilds the Horizon, than his light is done.   

Saw'st thou their valour show itself but once,  
Against the enemies of England's good,  
How many of them they destroy at once,  
And how they bathe their brandished blades in blood,  
Wading in gore, as in some watery flood:  
Then wouldst thou say, and boldly wouldst aver,  
justly before all, Truth doth them prefer.   

Mounted upon Bell●naes chariot,  
(Honour their guide, their handmaid Victory,  
Like to fierce Lions all enraged, and hot  
With anger, they amongst their foes do fly,  
Dispersing all their force immediately:  
As oft the Sun dissolves some sullen cloud,  
That dares presume his beauty to inshroude.   

Their feet, they still upon the necks advance  
Of England's proudest foes, and tread them down,  
Enforcing them their glory to enhance,  
And knowledge duty to Eliza's Crown:  
Thus England's Worthies spread her great renown,  
Now tell me Fame, if in this excellence  
England hath not the sole pre-eminence.   

A greater Excellence doth still remain;  
England's fair daughters, (yet unmentioned)  
Whose beauty no deformity doth stain:  
Once Learning with her nursing milk them fed,  
But now by them is Learning nourished.  
Their excellence makes England excellent,  
For that she hath so great an ornament.   

But of their worth, now to make worthy mention  
And every other Excellence to touch  
Of matchless England; is not my intention,  
Already I have proved there is none such,  
Hereafter I (perhaps) will show, how much  
For every other thing she doth surmount,  
And all her Excellence I will recount.   

In mean time, Fame (now mean I to be short)  
Say boldly, that no nation doth excel  
Great England: for thou boldly mayst report,  
What faultless Truth desireth thee to tell:  
So doing Fame thou canst not do but well.  
If envies brood affirm thy tale not true,  
Tell them Truth saith all this is England's due.   
FINIS.   

The Conclusion.  

WHen Fame to Time had read this letter over,  
Time was well pleased, such pleasing news to hear,  
Fame took her leave and back again did hover,  
Time still flew on; and now 'gan to appear  
Bright Phoebus' rays in this our hemisphere:  
With whom we all this while our course did take,  
And Fame now gone Time thus unto me spoke.   

Lo how the heaven (that late so much did droop,  
For ●itans forced absence) now doth clear:  
How fast the gloomy clouds away do troop;  
Behold how Tellus (on whose cheeks appear  
Sad drops of late shed tears) herself doth cheer;  
And glad to see the Suns so fair uprise,  
smileth, and seems to wipe her weeping eyes.   

As joyful as these seem, so glad am I:  
Yea and more joyful far beyond compare,  
Then for the Sun's fair light, seem Earth or Sky,  
To hear that sacred Truth so well doth far.  
This hath disburdened my heart of care,  
That lately much misdoubted her estate,  
Whom well I knew the World did causeless hate.   

Now well I see that all commanding jove,  
(That rules and overrules in every thing)  
Unspotted Truth doth most entirely love.  
How then can she be made an underling,  
That is the darling to so great a king?  
Now sure I am she never shall decay,  
Though all the World conspire her to betray.   

Ah England, keep her still, and love her still,  
And she will be a staff unto thine age.  
Preserve her still in honour, and she will  
Preserve thee safe against thine en'myes' rage.  
What ere they be that war 'gainst thee shall wage,  
she'll hem thee in as with a brazen wall,  
To live secure and none shall make thee thrall.   

No sorrows blemish shall thy beauty stain,  
Nor Age character wrinkles on thy brow:  
So long as England shall Truths right maintain,  
So long to none her princely neck shall bow;  
Safe shall she dwell, and this I dare avow,  
(Truth countenanced) Peace, or Victory,  
Shall England evermore accompany.   

As Time thus spoke, (I tired with watching long,  
And ouerwearied with this wandering)  
Mine eyes complained that they had suffered wrong,  
Which had no rest in all this journeying:  
Whilst thus mine eyes their rights were challenging,  
I drowsy waxing, fell at last on sleep;  
Yet aged Time his passage on did keep.   

What past whilst thus I slept I know not well:  
But when I waked, myself I strangely found  
Amidst that walk, where (as I first did tell)  
I heard the voice that Time's approach did sound.  
Up I arose, Time's absence did me wound,  
At last I spied him flying yet in fight,  
And home I hide these accidents to wright.   

What censure pass hereon, I greatly care not:  
If thou my noble Patron pardon me,  
Let other reader's carp at me and spare not:  
Sith these unpolished lines must published be,  
For every critics eye my faults to see;  
Let them detract, and blame my skills defect,  
And scorn my Muse, so thou wilt me protect.   
FINIS.