A panegyric To the most honourable and renowned Lord, THE LORD HAYS Viscount of Doncaster, HIS MAJESTIES OF GREAT-BRITTAINE Ambassador in Germany.  
Sung by THE RHINE, Interpreted by George Rodolfe Weckherlin Secretary to his High. of Wirtemberg.   

SONNET TO THE MOST NOBLE AND WORTHILY HONOURED LORD, THE LORD HAYS, VICOUNT OF DONCASTER etc.  

Brave Lord in whom natures hand doth display  
Such daintiness, as ever she can frame;  
Whose virtuous deeds by still bright-shining Fame  
Engraven stand in heavens book foray:   

Do not dislike, that my Muse dare array  
Her poverty with your honoured name.  
A humble heart with courage to inflame  
Belongs to men of worth and noble sway.   

The shining Sun casting on a small hill  
Of fertile earth her sweet nourishing rays,  
In time with seed, flowers and fruits doth it fill.   

One beam alone of your meek grace can raise  
My lowly style, which as yet wanteth skill,  
(Though foreign) to acquire both skill and praise.   
G. RODOLFE WECKHERLIN.   

A panegyric.  

MOst noble Lord te see you I did long,  
And now I long to sing your worthy praise;  
For never worse can be my simple song,  
Then my silence of your renowned bays,  
Whose lustre shall receive (I trust) no wrong  
By those small flowers, my humble hand doth raise.  
Nought do I crave, nor hope I any thing,  
And nought but truth wills me your laud to sing.   

My greedy ears did often gladly hear  
The worthiness of your beloved Name,  
When Thamesis, to whom you are still dear,  
When the Sea-gods and Sirens sung the same,  
Rounding the world with accents sweet and clear,  
Of your perfect yet still increasing Fame:  
Thus right to know did wish my got heart  
If greater were their grace or your desert.   

Now do I see, in you now do I find  
That your deserts do any praise excel;  
I find that Fame (else commonly too kind)  
Is but to you to scant, to hard and fell:   

Which though too great it seemed in my mind,  
Yet did my thoughts of you suppose full well:  
But now I read, that Fame could not record,  
Nor I invent, what you yourself afford.   

Let Phoebus tell if ever he did see  
In this vast world an other living wight,  
Who justly can with you compared be,  
Whom natures hand to frame took such delight,  
Granting to him such an ascendent Fee,  
Where else withal a thousand could be dight:  
In whom alone with love so fair as sweet  
All gifts of mind, body and fortune meet.   

A worthy twig of a most ancient brood,  
(Of Scotland's crown a noble ornament)  
Have you been borne, where some of that high blood  
Were to their foes their last astonishment;  
Some others did with counsel wise and good  
The Kingdom's ease and their own fame augment.  
But you to laud, 'tis needles to declare  
What they have been, but only what you are.   

The splendour of the stock gives but small pleasure,  
That often Chance makes to base minds best known;  
And such a fame is but a borrowed treasure,  
A lightning show of a worthless renown:  
But virtues hand, with her excessive measure  
Spreading your laud, adorns you with a crown,  
Which, like the Sun, still excellently bright,  
Doth take of none but gives to many light.   

Not Fortune's blind frank and abusive hand,  
The which to deal her wealth confusedly  
Doth no deserts see, weigh, nor understand,  
But heavens Love did courteously apply  
Such goods to you (your worth not to withstand)  
Whereby do still your merits multiply.  
For your great heart, that no gold can recover,  
Is of all gold a master never a Lover.   

The chiefest care, richesse in you can breed,  
Is well to do the chiefest instrument.  
Gold doth some men, while they on gold do feed,  
With starving pain and greediness torment:  
But in your heart, the ground of virtues seed,  
Yields it tribute to your encouragement;  
And that, whereby some commonly grow vain,  
Most vain to you, makes you true glory gain.   

The godly shape, which heaven did enchase  
With supreme skill within your body's frame,  
Doth well appear in your most worthy face,  
Like through a cloud the heavens purest flame:  
And as th'outside of a well-builded place.  
Makes us believe, th' inside be without blame;  
Thus seeing you my thoughts do by mine eyes,  
I know not what, more than yourself advise.   

That monster fierce, that all good doth envy,  
Whose spiteful tongue of no good can speak well,  
May your whole life with sharpest looks well spy,  
Yet must it but against his liking tell,   

The noblest heart of valour, courtesy,  
And gallantness within your breast do devil;  
And that your soul enjoyeth (most content)  
All goods that Art and Nature can present.   

When courtly sport to any enterprise  
Bids you a foot or on horseback to fight,  
Or when you please with other exercise  
That wisest Kings (your Dreads) most worthiest sight,  
You may still get (if so you will) the prize:  
But when your tongue with her sweet-flowing might  
Assaileth hearts, then do you plainly prove,  
You can subdue all by force or by love.   

Once I was told (when you went into France)  
How wanton Love did fair Thetis deceive,  
How, while your ship the Tritons made to dance,  
He meaned her of her heart to bereave;  
How her green eyes your grace and virtues glance  
Did greedily into her breast receive:  
Your presence brave brought her her Son to mind,  
Whose image she could no where truer find.   

Thus now my Nymfs, nay all the people's stout  
Of Germany, which your presence doth grace,  
joyfully run and sing you round about  
(Glad with their arms and hearts you to embrace)  
With minds and mouths all with me crying out:  
Ay-during be the happy health and grace!  
Still flourishing may be the praise and bays  
(As the deserts be great) of My lord HAYS!   

More would I say, but that your glories light,  
Dimming mine eyes, doth quite my mind oppress:  
And though I say much, yet is it but slight,  
Since that much more my silence doth suppress.  
It may be too, that to your hearts brave hight  
This lowly song doth cause but loathsomeness:  
Or (as I think) you are to hear more sorry,  
Then prompt and glad to deserve praise and glory.    

SPES MEA CHRISTUS JOHANN WEYRICH RÖSSLIN  printer's device of Johann Weyrich Rösslin, official printer of the Württemberg court  
Printet at Stutgart by John-Wyrich Rosslin. ANNO M.DC.XIX.