LINES DEDICATED TO FAME and TRUTH: Written by Sr. FRANCIS WORTLEY KNIGHT and baronet. Upon the consideration of the various Fortunes of that Blessed and most virtuous Lady ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.  
Printed at York by Stephen Bulkley, 1642.   

Lines, Dedicated to Fame and Truth, Written by Sir Francis Wortley Knight and baronet, &c.  
IF all those virtues which the critics call  
Virtues divine, and virtue's Cardinal,  
If these together mixed with royal blood  
Can scarcely make a claim to merit good,  
If her great merits could not impetrate,  
So much as not to be unfortunate,  
And in misfortunes to exceed so far,  
As if the worst of all her sex she were;  
How light will our best work be in heaven's scale  
If she thus far in points of merit fail,  
Had she been Rome's her Superarogation,  
Had been sufficient for the British Nation,  
And would have made the papal Sea as great  
As Rome was when it was Augustus' seat.  
Who would not have a blessed Pilgrim been,  
Had he ever read the Story of this Queen.  
Had not the Roman Doctrine been disputed,  
That others merit cannot be imputed,  
The Antinomists though theyare very loath  
To trust to works, their thread bare faith would clothe.  
In Her rich merits, so even they might hope  
By merits to be saved without a Pope.  
The Character of patience Job, even He  
must lose some Glory, if compared with Thee.  
The Story of thy sufferance, who can tell,  
This I dare say, it hath no parallel.  
Thou were't the Daughter of a mighty King,  
Great Charles His only Sister, and didst bring  
A portion worthy the imperial Crown;  
Besides, the greatest portion was thine own;  
'Twas for thy sake the German Princes did  
Set Bohemss Crown upon thy husband's Head:  
They saw (good Queen) thy virtues were so great,  
They would have placed Thee on th'imperial Seat.  
All these thou lost at once, that we might see,  
The Gods on Earth have a capacity  
Of fatal change, that Kings and Queens may know  
There are no fixed fortunes here below.  
Lord! What a Sea of Princely Christian blood  
Hath been poured out, to make thy Title good.  
Had she been Rome's, all these had Sainted been,  
And styled, The blessed Martyrs of this Queen.  
Thou and thy King with a distracted Train  
Before thy Foes fled, and pursued amain.  
Thy Husband banished from His Native soil,  
Friends, Cities, Country, made a woeful spoil  
And sacked. The Plague, the Famine, Fire, and Sword,  
Were glutted all, Nature the sights abhorred.  
Yet, as enough, thy patience were not tried,  
Thy gold in new fires must be purified:  
Thy first born Son which was the greatest loss,  
With airy nails was sixt upon the cross:  
Twixt Heaven and Water, and the vessel drowned  
There frozen to the Mast was next Day found.  
Then Sweadens King that thunderbolt of War,  
Who had He lived, had been an Emperor,  
Had raised Your husband's Heart, that He espied  
Some glimmering hopes, and in that twilight died.  
Before thou couldst recover such a cross,  
Sad News was brought thee of another loss,  
That Great Gustavus was untimely slain,  
(As 'twas supposed with Pistols sent from Spain)  
Whose martial Soul, not used to be said nay  
In its ascension, got a glorious Day.  
As in His Journey, it the Planets past,  
'Twas so much honoured there, great Mars at last  
Begun to fear, He could not choose but see,  
His Legions did incline to mutiny,  
And joined together would a council call,  
To make that Spirit of His their general.  
Never the Soul of any King Ascended,  
Who had from Earth to Heaven been more commended.  
My Muse grows weary with this tragic Story  
(Nor could I force her) were it not Her glory  
Whom it concerns, (now to the last I come,  
So may it be her brave heroic Son)  
Whose sweetness here hath so much honour got,  
Except the Queen, few have so great a stock  
In Court, and Country both, nor would I see  
A kinder Father saving majesty  
Then our King was; and seldom have I seen  
A kinder Mother, than our virtuous Queen.  
When this sweet Prince had here tried some few friends  
And had propounded to the King his ends,  
He ships himself, needs but to hoist half sail  
lest prayers and sighs should raise too great a gale,  
Words are but air, and prayers but words in form,  
'Tis but excess of air that makes a storm.  
Austria too long for Justice hath been suited,  
Their cause must now with sharp swords be disputed.  
Our King and they with treaties were deluded,  
Both she and hers by Act of State excluded,  
From all their Rights, an Army than they raised,  
On such a sudden, it the world amazed;  
He brings them to the field, beseidged a Town,  
Which to th'Imperiallists was quickly known;  
Two distant Armies correspondence hold,  
(Which made even both the Armies far more bold)  
The lesser dares him out, keeps him in play,  
Mean while the stronger marches night and day  
And got behind him, to his passage make,  
Which with their horse, too strong for his they take;  
When the Prince saw his army thus enclosed,  
He calls a council, he himself supposed  
'Twas best to charge those which the passage kept,  
Which all agreed on, and before they slept,  
They March away, though they were almost tired  
And over Marched, their Trenches than they fired.  
Into Brigadoes they their strength divide,  
Flanker their foot, with Horse on either side.  
Their strength was Horse, their Baggage they enclose,  
Guarded their Cannon; then He Craven chose,  
And to his charge He did commit the Van,  
Who proved himself that Day, A Daring Man,  
And showed himself so resolute and bold,  
His name is in the Book of Fame enrolled.  
He and His Brother did bring up the rear,  
Whose high born Spirits did that Day appear.  
Craven charged home and did them sore dismay,  
But for their fresh supplies, He won the Day.  
The Battles join, the Imperialists increaest,  
And as they grew, Death had the greater Feast.  
The rear came bravely up, the young Prince He,  
In thirst of Honour, sense of injury;  
Himself to such high hazards He exposed,  
As He was often by His foes enclosed;  
Yet who enclosed Him, or enforced His stay,  
He, by their ruins, made himself still way.  
But when Prince Robert, Her brave second Son,  
(Who 'mongst the soldiers hath such Honour won)  
Heard that His Princely Brother was engaged,  
With love, and martial fury both enraged,  
Through troops of Horse and Foot He forced His way,  
And finds Him freed, yet there He would not stay,  
He forward pressed into the greatest throng  
Of all His foes, His Sword there told His wrong:  
He picked out their Commanders whom He knew  
By Marks were given Him, those He took or slew,  
Whose troops of Horse and Foot; His fury fly,  
Those He encounters must, or yield, or die,  
'Twas happiness to them (who did command)  
Since they must die, to die by such a Hand.  
His Horse, His arm, His very Sword was tired,  
That Spirit of His, twice Samson's strength required;  
And would their wagons with rich spoils have laded,  
Nay all the troops of German Horse have Jaded.  
And thus retired, they blocked Him up (they say)  
When none durst charge, 'twas thought the safest way.  
Have you ear seen a chafed lion stand,  
With toils encompassed, and on every Hand  
With Hunters galled, yet none the Lists dare enter,  
lest he too dearly pay for his Adventure.  
Whilst all the Hunters various ways contrive  
To take this lion (if they can alive)  
So galled and weary brave Prince Robert stood,  
The Earth about him died with German Blood.  
At last a Troop of desperate Men they horsed,  
Who on all sides assault him, so enforced  
With multitudes, when all the ways they'd tried,  
They took him living, who would fain have dy'd;  
Which News too soon did through the Army fly,  
And that the Enemies had a fresh supply  
Who had encompassed them on every side,  
In every face that after this News died:  
He who had skill in physnomy might find  
How to revenge the soldiers were inclined.  
'Tis true, they lost the Day, but they behaved  
Themselves so bravely, they their Honour saved:  
The meanest soldier by Example led,  
By Troops together mixed with Enemies dead.  
The Paulsgrave was advised to quit the field,  
Which He refused, He scorned so much to yield.  
Being rudely pressed, He cuts himself a way  
Through all those Troops, none durst enforce His stay.  
He to the Wesen comes, into it Leapt,  
Which Him as safely as it's sovereign kept:  
His sprighfull Steed so bravely landed Him  
As if He had Great Neptune's Dolphin been.  
'Tis true, the waves in multitudes increased  
And crowded in, to welcome such a Guest;  
Yet so obedient were to their commands,  
The proudest waves there, durst but kiss His hands.  
Thus Landed safely on proud Wesens Banks,  
He lifts His Eyes up, and gives Heaven the thanks,  
Which such a confidence to Heaven He prays,  
He had Solomon's blessing given, and length of days.  
You who were once dear Wives, sad widows now,  
Mothers of Children, who have kept each Vow  
Either to Heaven, or to your Husbands made:  
Think how the Queen was with this News dismayed;  
But you were never Daughters to a King,  
Nor did such Portions to your Husbands bring,  
The world's great love to you hath never cost  
It any Blood, you have no Kingdoms lost,  
No hopes of Empire, there's no Prince hath tried  
His Fortunes in your cause; No Kings have dy'd  
In your just quarrel: You have not left Estates,  
Or if you have, not two Palatinates.  
Your Eldest Son was not in shipwreck lost,  
Nor was your second in the Wesen tossed;  
Your third not taken Prisoner by his foes;  
Had you all those, and not such Sons as those,  
How can, how dare you judge of hers,  
But as poor Vassals, speak of Emperors;  
They do believe at Court there are such things  
As they have heard their magistrates call Kings;  
Like those that dare the Stars by name recite,  
Or count by Unites to an Infinite,  
They're forced to end where they at first begin,  
And so in arrogance commit a sin.  
So should you rob this good Queen of her glory,  
(But I much more) by telling of this story.  
In this I do but as most People use,  
I with a greater wrong, a less excuse:  
That which my naked Muse should cover (Love)  
In this case doth my disadvantage prove,  
The World stands so affected to Her story,  
No Muse, I know, but would impair Her glory.  
The competition might grave Homer raise,  
Or Maro's soul to sing this good Queen's praise;  
Who ear he be he needs not to complain,  
For this high Subject will enrich his strain,  
And imp the proudest Feather in his Wing,  
That with the lark he may mount high, and sing  
Even to the admiration of the quire,  
Suit but the Subject, and none can sing higher.   

Congratulatory Lines, Written upon the Landing of the renowned Prince Robert, Nephew to our dear sovereign, and Son to the glorious Queen of Bohemia, and Second Brother to the Illustrious Prince Elector.  
WElcome, thrice welcome brave heroic Spirit,  
He's no good Subject joys not in the merit  
Of dear Eliza's blessed progeny,  
He's no brave Man, hath not his share in thee.  
If th'English, Danish, Scottish, German Blood  
Wanted their Stories, thou wilt prove them good.  
Yet let me tell thee, thy brave mother's story,  
Like the bright Sun, admits no rival glory;  
When our brave Cordelion was betrayed  
By Austria's archduke, and his Prisoner made,  
Such was our sorrow then, and discontent  
As here was for thy late imprisonment:  
Such was the Joy when He came safely home,  
As here late was, that thou wert hither come;  
Eliza is derived from His Line,  
And hath a braver Heart than his or thine;  
Her Name to all succeeding times shall be  
Glorious as His; but more renowned by Thee.  
Poets are Prophets, then accept from me  
These humble wishes, as a prophecy:  
The Names no Stranger to th'imperial Seat,  
May thy Sword make our dear Prince, Charles the Great  
May thy dear Mother in blessed old Age see  
Her wrongs, and losses all, repaired by Thee.  
FINIS.