A DISCOURSES OF THE PRESENT TROUBLES IN france, AND MISERIES OF THIS TIME, COMPILED BY PETER RONSARD GENTLEMAN OF VANDOME, AND DEDICATED UNTO THE QVENE MOTHER, TRANSLATED IN TO ENGLISH BY THOMAS JENEY GENTLEMAN.  
PRINTED AT ANDWERPE. M.D.LXVIII.   

A PASSION.  
When grymm despair, with grasp of grisly woos,  
In plounged minds, do work the muse's wrack:  
Then boiling heads turmoils, the hammars gooes,  
And hewmors drives, as doth the summers rack.  
No kindly course, his proper plight reteanes.  
Summoned with cayres, so fayred it by me,  
By sudden drift, as flormes by misty rains,  
Do choked th'air, and brightness of the skey.  
In such a plight, did all my senses stand,  
The storm began, with in my restless brain,  
And from my eyes, the streams were straight at hand,  
That on my cheeks, sharp showers down did rain.  
Each hewmor did (as surges soils themselves,  
On muddy shoores) with rughe reflex contend.  
Each vain puffed up, as though with floating eveles:  
Did ransicke oft, what way to wrist or wend.  
My body chylld, as all amazed with woe:  
My trembling flesh, hot agewes did conspire:  
My clustered limes, on frossen heaps did grow:  
And straight resolved, as though attached with fire,  
Where in my corpse, a stubborn war began.  
My sobs supped up, with snatching breath redound,  
And smookye sieghes from cloudy breast forth came,  
That estsouns forced, a shattering hollow sound.  
But what it was, that bred me all this cairo,  
My silence shall, record his cureless dump  
In careless mind, that yields not to despair:  
Nor brag of fickle fortunes worldly brunt.  
In maze of woe, and in this caise was i:  
Twene hope to riese, and fear, to said, or fall,  
When first my friend, presented unto me  
This mourning verse, of plaintfull france his thrall:  
And bad me wrist, my weary muse to sing,  
Of clattering arms, and fiery MAVORS moved:  
Of hateful war, en forced by ENVIES sting:  
To baythe his hands, withein his country blood.  
Not half ypast, the threats of winter sad,  
When SATURN had, stirred up the GAULES to arms.  
My morming muse, in sorrow all ycladd,  
'Gan then to wryet, of these divided harms.  
My shayking hand, my plaintfull pen began,  
To wail the FRENCH, and present stayte of man.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, MY VERY GOOD LORD AND MASTER SIR HENRY NORREIS' KNIGHT. L. AMBASSADOR RESIDENT IN france.  
The bale begun, is when deformed wars,  
With civil stroke, embrewes his native sword.  
For were it not, that rage of rancours root,  
By growing evils, had watched so black a time,  
I wean envy, by such owtraginge spleen  
Had not brought forth, this fowl misshapen change  
In maimed state, that RONSARD wails in rhyme,  
And I reduce,  not resembling pen,  
To English grace (though in unskilful verse)  
By friends enforced to publish now abroad:  
Which I present (SIR) to your shrowdinge hand,  
No Trophy, nor mass of mighty mine,  
Nor golden somme, but as à miete of fame,  
Where power fails t'vnlade affections force.  
Your bounden servant THOMAS JENEY.   

AD THOMAM JENEIUM EPIGRAMMA.  
Gallica si laudem Ronsardi Musa meretur,  
Dum deflet patriis patria fata sonis:  
Et tua, digna suis Ieneie est laudibus, eius  
Anglorum in numeros dum breve cogis opus:  
Nam tibi materia est eadem, decurris eodem  
Tramite, Pieriae doctus uterque lyrae.  
Ille canit patriae moestus fera damna ruentis,  
Tingit & Aoniis Gallica verba favis:  
Tuque sequens vates Musae vestigia Gallae,  
Sollicitas doctis plectra Britanna modis.  
Gratia quaéque illum comitatur blanda canentem,  
Emicat, in versu nec minor illa tuo est.  
Sic vatem vates vertens, quas ille meretur,  
Efficis ut laudes sint quoque iure tuae.  
D. ROGERIUS.   

FAWTES ESCAPED IN printing.  
The leaf B. iij. second side, last verse for echo es read eckoes. The leaf following, first side, the 24. line, for, ou black Moorey, read thou black moors. At the end in the sonnet, in the end of the sixth verse, for fame, read, tame.   

A DISCOURSE OF THESE PRESENT TROUBLES, AND miseries of this tŷme.  
SENSE that by divine might of God,  
The world was first y framd,  
Who lent us life, as nature hight,  
Unspotted and unsteande,  
If then from age to age, increase  
Of vice, had entered in  
To human hearts, and routed nowght  
But rage of cankered sin,  
Then long tofore, should extreme wrath  
Of malice and of might,  
Surmonted all, and we have led  
Our lives in sineful plight:  
But sense we see, each sort of men  
In Sundry place and I'll,  
Some walk as in a virtuous way,  
And some do live but vile,  
We ought, and must confess by force,  
That this difformed vice,  
ought not to boast of victory,  
But as by fowl surprise  
Pursewes that trade, that she enjoys  
That day when man is clad,  
With virtues and with vices robes  
In habit good or bad.  
Ne yet virtue itself, do ought  
Augment her gladsome bands,  
If she had but increased eftsonnes,  
Her fame with heaved up hands,  
Had stretched unto the tipp of gloor,  
And each thing should accourre,  
By perfect means to golden hap,  
Which present we abhor.  
But as it seems to Royal states,  
And to their pompeus train,  
And manners eke, through tract of years,  
We see it thus remain.  
For sometime virtue bears à sale,  
And sometime vice abounds,  
Thone erectes himself, with force,  
The other sinks and drowndes:  
Rebayted thus, rechast with might,  
The painful mind applies,  
Lest that, with in this sineful world,  
Increase of vice arise.  
It pleased thus, the puissant god,  
To interchange our might,  
And suffer man, within the lap,  
Of good and bad to light.  
As doth the painful pilot oft  
Conduct his crazed boat,  
In bitter storm, and quiet calm,  
between hap and hapless loate.  
(Thou Queen) that from thy sappy wits,  
Doth shake of ignorance,  
And reeds and hears attentively  
Our Martial feats of France,  
Thou knowest, and canst fulwel decern  
beholding our debate,  
The difference of each time forpast,  
And of our present state.  
To write of kings, their manners eke  
In blood sometime embrued,  
And some unspotted and unsteande,  
That lyud with fame pursued.  
My hand doth shake, my feeble pen  
Is not in perfect plight,  
My Muses all do maze to see  
The fruits of dire despite.  
Ambition doth with thirsty throat,  
And wide devouring paw,  
Stir up à thousand strifes and moo  
without respect of law:  
Some one are lame of wit an skill,  
And some with reason flows,  
And some of feeble heart again  
There needful cause foreslows.  
As princes do profess and are  
So subjects do incline,  
For princes are a pattern priest  
Unto their people's eyen.  
It than behoves in tender age,  
For to instruct each king,  
How with advice he may conduct,  
And govern every thing:  
Even from his cradles first he ought,  
To have before his eyes,  
The fear of God, his early scourge,  
That through misorders rise.  
And eke he ought so well provide,  
And so ordain and way,  
The true and perfect law, that none  
Do err or run astray,  
By schism or by pernicious sect,  
By false or forged devise,  
That intricates nowght else but dowbtes,  
By wicked man's surmise.  
MADAME alas I wail to see  
The cloudy bitter storm,  
That threatens France, such wracks of woos,  
By winters wrath y torne.  
The flaggy snows, the dampishé mists,  
The fury of the skies,  
The bowstiours winds do work the seas  
And foaming surges rise.  
And now the stars, the guiding twins,  
Disdains there gladsome light,  
Stand stiffly (MADAME) to the stern,  
To guide the bark out right.  
In mawger of the heydeous winds,  
And rough malicious storm,  
Conduct to harbour man and mate  
In shipwreck thus y torne.  
Whole France with folded hands requires,  
An thrice requires thy mean,  
Our silly state (a pray to such  
As scorn our noble reign)  
That thou wilt hast that happy mean,  
That may those evels redress,  
And by thy right and might appease,  
Thes mischeffes more and less.  
The Royal pride of haughty seat,  
The pomp of princely law,  
That quiet held the mace of might,  
And regal sword of awe,  
In bosom of the heavenly light,  
What may their souls now say?  
Yea what may they that shrouded are  
In couch and tomb of clay?  
What may the Royal PHARAMOUND  
And CLODIUS ensign?  
What may proud CHARLES, king PIPIN eke,  
And LEWIS of that time?  
What may CLOWIS in Armer clad  
And Martial MARTEL say?  
That erst with prudent policy,  
Did reign and rule alway.  
That whithe there valiant Arms still sought  
For to enlarge our state,  
Ye first found means by conquest great,  
To gain this fertel seat.  
Where in their stateley golden reigns  
Of warlike Gauls we read,  
And how with Armed men were seen  
The barren fields over spread.  
Not thus by Civil sawage wars  
Our state to over tourné,  
But sought by rigour of the swourde,  
Our lusty fame to form.  
Imagen that you hear the skrikes,  
That echo es to the skies  
And so redounds from heigh again  
To earth with dowleful cries:  
What may our former fathers say?  
And lusty men at arms:  
That in these conquests perilous,  
Receyud their mortal harms?  
And died: to effraunchise France,  
With long and yerkesome toils,  
To see ourselves with Civil swourd,  
destroy our native Soils.  
They may repine and eke repent  
Their loathsome bloody broils:  
Their quarrels and their conquests thus  
Subdued with warlike toylis  
For such a people thus distroaght,  
For such divided strife,  
That looseth while they might enjoy  
A shore of happy lief,  
A fructeful soil a fertel land,  
That thou of BRUTUS' source  
Where foaming seas on lofty sides  
Doth beat with rage of force,  
And drinks upon Thamasis' springs.  
And also ou black Moorey,  
That in the western waves do live,  
And build on Libicks shores,  
Fearing the flames of Phaethon  
declining on thy head:  
And thou proud Prince of poumpus train,  
That confines one our side,  
And thou proud Goat to Armour priest  
That prows strives to win,  
Who feels the Northern could some time,  
One rough and riveled skin:  
By Martial feats of glittering Arms  
Ne yet by bloody fight,  
Can never daunt or tame by hand  
The GAULES of warlike might.  
The Axe of hardnid steel y wrought,  
And quick of cut y framed  
Makes oft the labour easier,  
Unto the work man's hand.  
And warlike France, if sharp of wit,  
And prudent policy,  
Ought now to quicken with there force  
The dymnese of the eye:  
And by their labour so reduce  
Their wealth to gladsome states  
And to the hatchet heow we see  
The taulest oaks abats.  
Whose weal no raging arms could daunt  
Nor threat of foreign foo,  
themselves  bloody CYVEL knife,  
Now seeks to overthrow.  
So was strong Ajax brought unto  
His baleful blowdie end,  
Whilst through his corpse, his brutish hand,  
The savage knife did send:  
And ROME that wondered long each state,  
(A Monarch built of pride,)  
Who from Apollo's ruddy bed,  
Unto the western side,  
His EMPIRE whithe his largest skirtts,  
And bounds ystretched far,  
revolting once, by CYVEL sword,  
Decayed by country war.  
If these be hateful precedents,  
By plainteful hasserds' thrall,  
And we not warned how to beware,  
To read of others fall?  
Ought not we to be wail our wrongs,  
That in a cloud of woe,  
Our eyes which blindness so forecast,  
We can discern no foe?  
That present now to plunge of wrack,  
Doth threaten yeke decay,  
And we headlong in misery,  
Can not eschew the way.  
The foreign Prince whithe warlike sword,  
Whose wars are plain to us,  
Do pity our absourdities,  
And state tormented thus,  
That blunt of wit we feel not now,  
How our Dysastre turns,  
And that we see, and will not see,  
How wayward fortune spornes.  
Of Long record of antic fame,  
Many have here tofore,  
By thretninge and by fearful signs,  
Presaged less and more.  
namely with in such years and days,  
That heady frantic GAULS,  
Whithe CYVEL shock and native sword,  
Should shake both town and walls:  
And that of filthy mourders oft,  
Our trowbeled estate,  
Should render us of all estates,  
The most unfortunate.  
While like to blowndred crows in mists,  
We headlong run to Arms,  
Not knowing how to shun or shift,  
The sequel of our harms.  
An to declare ourselves more wise,  
We never gave no trust,  
To true precepts nor ruled, our lives,  
But ever to our lust.  
But obstinate and blind as were  
The HEBRVES of foretime,  
That trusted not the Sacred words,  
Of those which did divine.  
The gods that having some respect,  
Unto the strained sort,  
Sent in our time such wonders oft,  
That might our lives exhort:  
with watery eyes for to repent,  
And wail our wicked sin,  
And to repair the breach wile we,  
A better life be gin.  
The Skies which showers did wail our wreck,  
Be fore our tourmoyles were,  
The Commetts from the Eastern side,  
with threats did foul appear,  
And SEINE whithe over flowing waves,  
Of far unwonted force,  
Did denotate, and we might dame,  
To PARIS some devorse.  
The waters in their swelling wrath,  
As though which foaming fume,  
They would by mighty overflow,  
The sinful world consume:  
That heaven and earth did as it wear,  
Threaten our Royal Realm,  
A day of bitter sharp revenge,  
And Ruin of the same.  
O thou that writest of warlike works,  
with not dissembling pen,  
Depaint at length our monstrous age,  
To fear and warn all men:  
Recount unto our tender youth,  
Our fatal misery,  
That reading they may eke bewail,  
Our state whithe watery eye,  
That they may live and eke beware,  
Of their forefathers sin,  
Lest they by headlong error do,  
Right to such evels fall in.  
with what unshamefast face mayest thou,  
O Vile tormented life,  
Be hold the story of our time,  
In this myshapen strife:  
In Reading that our Sceptre hath,  
And Kingly famus race,  
From first so many years to forne,  
Endured which glad increase:  
And now runues rashly to rvine,  
By rage of martial might,  
Even as the strongest rock is forced,  
From high to low to light.  
The story wytethe how JOVE some time,  
In rage whithe hewmaine race,  
That would by curious means invent,  
His godhead to displace:  
And sought to know his divine might,  
with in his Sacred Isle,  
Which no man might to enterprise,  
That are profane and Vile,  
One day by prick of youth the god,  
From heigh seat would remove,  
To find out dame Presumption,  
To entertain in love.  
Where at the foot of heigh OLIMPE,  
Sound sleeping where she lay,  
Refte from her tender lips a kiss,  
And eftsoons stolen a way.  
Where which the profane god conceaud,  
such rancour in his mind,  
That all his means was for revenge,  
Upon the heumaine kind,  
Where at the heavens was wroth to see,  
The vile lascivous god,  
And so agreed that he should feel,  
The scourge and smarting rod,  
Refte than of Sacred godhead quite,  
By strange transformed mean,  
From riveled aged hide became,  
To tender skin again,  
From fleeting youth to manly state,  
As he stepped forwards still,  
Whythe out restraint he wrought a mean,  
That might succeed his will,  
What fancy framed in frantic brain,  
What youth unseemly meant,  
What thing profane and vile might be,  
That he not easily hent,  
Poufte up which peacocks pride as did,  
His beastly reign begin,  
So did his mounstrous shape declare,  
The form of ugly sin,  
From forth his fiery eyes broust out,  
A strange deformed flame,  
And nought but fraud and fycle baits,  
Did harbour in his brain,  
In poisoned heart was nourished nowghtt,  
But loathsome love devised,  
Under his habit raggd and rend,  
AMBITION sat disguised,  
Whithe twined look yet delicate,  
As is the SERENS face,  
And eke a dulced tongue enfefte,  
Whithe proud and painted grace,  
His wings were lightly borne, his feet,  
Were nether flesh nor bone,  
A shadow but, that none may here,  
When he was fled and gone.  
In Sacred schools the subtle god,  
Fond means to lodge and dwell,  
Only to blunt and blind there wits,  
with divine arts that mell,  
And to that end to plunge in woe,  
Their curious wits that sought,  
As arrogant the heavens to climb,  
To know eyche Divine thought.  
This fowl transformed JOVE that thus,  
Becamme profane ad vile,  
Hath brought this monstruous exchange,  
And uproars in this Isle,  
demanding now to needy France,  
From SAVOYE some Supplie,  
From SPAIN and from each Christian foo,  
That near confining lie,  
And also of the man of war,  
That pressed to sound of drum,  
Drinckes of the flowed of DANUBY,  
with channel deep that run,  
And of the silver streams of RHEYNE,  
with lusty sides hempt in,  
Who doth bestride the barbed horse,  
His Martial fame to win.  
In this deformed change the son,  
The father's fear white stood,  
The brother eke which stained hand,  
Ybaiths in brother's blood:  
Yea Nature clean degenerates,  
In weak and female kind,  
And glowing spite by pride conceals,  
The rancour of the mind,  
extract from house of Native line,  
Bereaves the others life.  
The servile man in masters blood,  
with stroke of stained knife,  
Imbrues his hands, (O bloody b●…le)  
O Nature foul confused:  
The man contract in bands we see,  
In Nuptial bed refused,  
The fruct of foes, by fraud of friends,  
He may peruse that lust,  
How farm is fraud, how frail is faith,  
How tycklie now is trust,  
How as from HYDRAIS head intrudes,  
The plumes of pevishe pride,  
And how which double faced wrong,  
times truth is sloly tried.  
The infant from his cradle crept,  
Devorst from parent's awe,  
Stands up and stiffly doth dispute,  
Of right and Sacred law.  
And every thing do clean decline,  
Whithe out restraint of might,  
Abandoned are all CYVEL means,  
Of policy and right.  
In this deformed change each craft,  
By painful hands sustained,  
Who rept his fruct by labour sweet,  
Is now no more mayntaind.  
The herdsman doth (dismayed man,)  
Refuse his simple charge,  
The advocate hath now no mean,  
To wrest his law at large.  
The steerman leaves his floating bark,  
To drench the seas alone,  
The traffic of the spending hand,  
Is now reject and gone.  
By this misshapen Monster eke,  
The wise and aware devise,  
Is by his malice clean transformed,  
To lewd and filthy vice.  
The tender youth in learned schools,  
Trained up to expert years,  
Corrups his frail and tender age,  
with fond and foul desires.  
The vilest craft do yeke transform,  
His pick axe and his spade,  
His pitcheforke to a pike and eke,  
His hatchet to a blade.  
And will no more which togge of plough,  
Tear up the slatie soils,  
But in a sword begert pourshewes,  
This frantic Cyvel broils.  
Mute is the mouth that would control,  
That Error now suborns,  
There blind and brutish appetits,  
No justice now reforms.  
To foul and vile licentious vice,  
Now liberty permits,  
Disorder and deformed will,  
In open judgement sits.  
Now each man proles for private gain,  
And greedy lust to wrenges,  
The massy gains of golden sums,  
That such disorder brings.  
In this black time the stars do war,  
The heavens do frown at this,  
To see this Chaos upon earth,  
Where form and fashion is.  
Upon this doleful stage scarce did,  
The prologue once begun,  
Before our woes unladed were,  
By conducts of the eyen,  
Sense that black time of lateful wars,  
And hateful misery,  
We have not supped up all aure sobs,  
Our eyes be scarcely dry:  
Attached of new unhappy time,  
From worse to worse we fall,  
Each resteful place, Each quiet seat,  
Of city, Town and wall,  
Hath which foul breach of promise high  
In trial of there truth,  
Revolted and to bloody Arms,  
These Cyvelle storms pourshewethe.  
Forfyerie Mars hath this decreed,  
In wrath and raging mood,  
To power down these plagues on France,  
Bestaynd which Cyvell blood:  
I wrest which wretched cares and woes,  
Of stormy winter threats,  
We fleet in waves of warlike surge,  
And crazed sides that beats.  
As doth the bark in stubborn blasts,  
Of mast and main bereft,  
Of marenner of man and mate,  
And yeake of pilate left.  
The painful hand of skilful mate,  
Denies to to hold the helm,  
In gulf of playntefull misery,  
Our state do overwhelm:  
Decayed wit how blunt art thou?  
That could not see the time,  
When as the fatale Sisters did,  
Draw forth their vital twine,  
And left the such triumphant years,  
Of long and happy age,  
As in thy bosom never might,  
Creep in such beastly rage,  
Of glowing spite by cruel Arms,  
To bathe the sinful hands,  
In bowels of thy native shore,  
That gylteles thee whithe stands.  
Unhappy GAULS unhappy men,  
And thrice unhappy race,  
That thus distraught sekst to destroy,  
Thy fertell native place.  
Defamed sword of Regal awe,  
Blush at thy feeble right,  
Divided thus, decayed art,  
Of Law and public might.  
Unhappy seat unhappy state,  
That now unsteadye stands,  
From lofty throne in case to fall,  
In to Ambitions hands.  
Look to your proud estate you GAULS,  
You GAULS of ancient name,  
That never stained which overthrow,  
You might conserve your fame,  
In quiet form, as erst tofore,  
Your fathers in their time,  
Who long mayntaynd a quiet reign,  
From all unshamefaast crime:  
From head long broils, from Cyvell wounds,  
From such defamed war,  
That in this age (unhappy time)  
We see apparent are.  
Of happy and of quiet Life,  
We see the glaze run out,  
The wracks appears from cloudy sky,  
Now MADAME look a bout:  
Make clear a board, in stormy seas  
The master shows his skill,  
Reform these frantic brains that thus,  
Do run on headlong will.  
Restrain which steady reigns these men,  
That which unbridled head,  
Haste to the stage of fiery arms,  
Their native blood to shed.  
Respect the hazard of our state,  
Respect our present Reign,  
Appease this quarrel and debate,  
That mangles thus our fame.  
Redress our vile dismembered age,  
Of most deformed life,  
Seek how to reconcile these wars,  
Of vile and hateful strife.  
Seek to avoid this fowl Eclipse,  
Of war and civil broils,  
Seek to be nunme the sinful hands,  
That in these mischifs moils.  
Seek how to clear the cloudy threats,  
Of this deformed sons,  
Seek to repair this curlish breatche,  
In savage heart's bogon.  
Reform which heedful care our state,  
That thus transfigured are,  
Respect o QVENE this sequel now,  
Of this unwonted war.  
Repair o QVENE  timely care,  
Our wealth now overthrow,  
Some good hand gripe the stable helm,  
To shipwreck as we run.  
Our plaintefull state in throws of woe,  
In hazard of decay,  
Calls help of none but thee (thou QVENE)  
That beareth now the sway.  
The tender years of pompous king,  
And proud unstained seat,  
That never yielded to no calm,  
Nor push of coursed fate,  
assist now  thy sage advice,  
Assist whithe policy,  
Assist our Realm lest worn to wrack,  
with wringed hands we cry,  
Unhappy reign unhappy life,  
Unhappy eke the wight,  
Unhappy eke a thousand times,  
The rule of female might.  
Let not the earth be stained  blood,  
In plunge of hateful harms,  
Exclaim and which outraging skrikes,  
Complame of Cyvell arms.  
Whose hateful and displeasant yoke,  
Of presant plague we feel,  
Disarming us unhappy GAULS,  
Of all our wonted we'll.  
Of all our proud and pompous praise,  
Of all our antic fame,  
Our honour flets, the glory ebbs,  
Of our Triumphant name:  
What long tofore in former age,  
Our father's fame hath won,  
Unhappy we unhappy GAULS,  
Unhappy have undone.  
FINIS.   

A sonnet to the translator.  
As Homer's streaming source, of springing head doth flow  
In greekish cloustred camps, by Troyans' reared to fame:  
As Virgil's matching stile, doth weave in smoothed frame,  
The peased pliant words, of wights that lie full low:  
So RONSARDS blooming graft (from them as you may know  
By ruthful mourners mind) doth words from parent's fame,  
wailing with brokken seighes the fiery kinghtes of name,  
That brave with glitternige sword in field to smite the blow  
Of deadly massy fist, (most deu to waylful France)  
Sent from mild God, that doth which splayed arms enhance,  
The lasting painful scourge, to whip the thankles flockee.  
If creed may credit give, to dysmalles judgements day,  
I think the same hath taught, JENEY to outforth bray,  
An English pleasant phrase, not far from RONSARDS' stock.  
Ferd: Fyldinge.   

ELEGIA DANIELIS ROGERII ALBIMONTII ANGLI, DE PERTURBATA CHRISTIANI ORBIS REPUBLICA, AD ILLUSTREM VIRUM, HENRICUM NORRICIUM, AURATAE MILITIAE EQVITEM, SERENISS. ET CHRISTIANISS. PRINCIPIS, D. ELIZABETHAE, ANGLIAE, etc. REGINAE, AD KAROLUM NONUM GALLIAE REGEM, ORATOREM.   

AD ILLUSTREM VIRUM HENRICUM NORRICIUM.  
Tristia conveniunt si carmina tristibus horis,  
Tempore nec luctus, si dare laeta decet:  
Haec ea, NORRICI, quae tristia tristibus horis  
Offero judicio scripta legenda tuo,  
Non ingrata tibi spero ventura legenti,  
Defleo dum tristi tristia fata lyra.  
add quòd est aequum cum flenti flere piúmque,  
Publicus & tangit pectora juncta dolor.  
Ipsa etiam in lacrumas dum lumina soluimus aegras,  
Egeritur, gemitu fit quoque cura minor.  
Hinc tibi, credo, tui JENEI Musa probatur,  
Quòd queritur patria publica damna cheli.  
Quòd si nostra etiam poterunt lugubria, puris  
Auribus, indicio & complacuisse tuo,  
Tempora quàm praestant genialia tristibus horis,  
Temporibus laetis tam meliora leges.   

ELEGIA, Ad illustrem virum, Henricum Norricium, Auratae militiae Equitem, Sereniss. & Christianiss. Principis, D. Elizabethae, Angliae, etc. Reginae, ad Karolum nonum Galliae Regem, Oratorem.  
MIssus es Orator Galli dum Regis ad aulam,  
NORRICI, & patriae consulis usque tuae,  
Ecquid ut est omnis facies tristissima mundi  
Cernis, & ut praeceps in sua damna ruat?  
Cernis, & haud melius te regna ruentia quisquam  
Prospicit, incertas cernis adesse vices.  
Nam tibi non tantùm clarorum stripe parentum  
Contigit, & nasci nobiliore domo:  
Sed quoque prudentes tribuerunt numina sensus,  
Abdita queis aliis quaeque videre soles.  
add quòd aerumnas praesens queis angitur orbis,  
Ipse etiam lippus, tonsor & ipse videt.  
At tua mens causas sensu praesagit acuto,  
Et tibi praesenti● constat origo mali.  
Scilicet orb● furens toto bacchatur Erinnys,  
Insidias, belli semina prima, serens.  
Nec fas, nec rata pacta sinit, verúmque fidémque  
Tollit, & est horum fraúsque dolúsque loco.  
Victa jacet pietas, terrásque exosa profanas,  
Relligio, coelum regna priora, petit.  
Ambitióque levis magnorum pectora Regum,  
Sollicitans, odij tetra venena ciet.  
Hinc Bellona manus tortis armata flagellis,  
Accensis animis cogit ad arma viros.  
Hinc pavor, hinc luctus, hinc plurima mortis imago  
Perturbant cunctis gaudia nostra locis.  
Ergo nec Virgo, nec iam Saturnia regna  
Longius in terris quas coluêre, vigent.  
Aurea Pax cessit niveos lacerata lacertos,  
Et Charites terris eripuere fugam.  
Deliciaeque hominum Musae fugêre, nec illas  
Qui foveat vasto vix viget orb locus.  
Ipse fides fractásque lyras abiecit Apollo,  
Nec juuat auratam nunc tenuisse chelyn,  
Quin pharetra promens sua tela, en strenuous arcum,  
Lunat, ut hac sola se tueatur ope.  
Omnis amorfugit, lacera Concordia palla,  
AEthereos petiit venerat unde tholos.  
Quàm cuperem Mauors etiam ad sua regna redisset,  
Esset ut à tantis libera terra malis.  
Ille etenim dextra latè sua fulmina vibrans,  
Inficit humano triste cruore solum.  
Nec pudor integritásque iwant, furor omnia miscet,  
Martis ubique metus, mortis ubique pavor.  
Foelices quibus antè datum, meliora videre  
Saecula, cùm pietas cúmque vigeret amor:  
Cùm Pax alma domos coleret, nec miles iniquus,  
Turbaret patrios mart furente deos.  
Nunc nec grata dies, noctísque ingratior umbra est,  
Felléque vipereo quaelibet hora madet.  
Ecquis enim locus est quem non perrupit Erinnys?  
Quem non sacrilegi militis arma replent?  
Personat armorum terras fragor horridus omnes,  
Quaeque parit tellus, sanguine fota putes.  
Omnia devastat gens Mossyneca sub arcto,  
Russica qua gelidos Duna pererrat agros,  
Sarmata bella fremens Henetos invadit: & Hunos  
Innumero oppressos milite Turca premit.  
Et sexennali miscentes praelia bello,  
Cimber in exitium triste Gothúsque ruunt.  
Germanísque habitans passim discordia campis,  
Nescio quos motus insidiásque timet.  
Belga sub Hispanis queritur nova vincla catenis,  
Excuterétque jugum si daret hora ducem:  
Quin etiam Mauors discordibus implicat armis  
Illa Calydoniae proxima regna plagae.  
Quaeque fuit quondam rerum domina Itala tellus,  
Quàm variis dominis seruiat illa vides.  
At divisa ruit plus quam civilibus armis,  
Gallia, & in proprias effera fertur opes.  
Nec modus ullus adest, nullus pudor, omnia legum,  
juráque naturae militis ira premit.  
Ipse pater bellum natis indicit, & arma  
Filius in patris colla verenda gerit.  
Frater & in fratris distringit viscera ferrum,  
Quis memoret siccis vel legat ista genis?  
Illum Caucaseis prognatum cautibus, horrens  
Fovit inhumanae & dura papilla lupae.  
Interea fidei saevissimus imminet hostis,  
Et iaculo & saeuus fulmine Acinacio.  
Quis furor est, externa vocant dum bella, manúsque  
Turcica Christiadum dum sitit usque necem,  
In proprios saevire artus, & vulnere mortem  
Alterno, diris accelerare modis?  
Tam subitò oblita es belli cladísque prioris  
Gallia, ut hei rursus civica bella velis?  
Aspice quas toto regno circunspicis arces,  
Quod de civili mart querantur, habent.  
Non cernis viduata suis tua rura colonis?  
Oppida divitiis & spoliata suis?  
Sulphureis quassata globis quae moenia quondam  
Hostiles poterant temnere salva minas?  
Squallida praeteritos deplorant rura tumultus,  
Et Druidum vestris ossibus albet ager.  
Ah! melius purges infectos sanguine campos,  
Quàm nova funesto praelia mart noves.  
Facta prius, nondum coijt miseranda cicatrix,  
Quid renoves igitur vulnera clade nova?  
Quisquis es, es tanti primus qui turbinis author,  
Te poenae ultrices fata & acerba manent.  
Tristia qui populos cogens ad bella quietos,  
In niveae pugnas relligionis opus.  
Non ita vis quorum verus successor haberi,  
Induerant populis arma ferenda suis.  
Alma procurantes sanctae sed commoda Pacis,  
Et bene commissas hi tuebantur oves.  
jam video instantes, te sic cogente, ruinas,  
Sanguine iam video rura madere pio.  
Forsitan & densis circundata lilia spinis,  
Tempus adest perdant protenus omne decus.  
Nam quis rebus opem (NORRICI) praebeat, orbi  
Tam desperato num quis adesse queat?  
Consilijs nullus cùm sit locus, irrita vatum  
Cùm vota, undosum per mare ventus agat.  
Quod nisi certa meam fallant praesagia mentem,  
jam ruimus subitò, tu nisi christ iwes.  
Tu nisi christ iwes, nostrae qui causa salutis,  
His potes auxilio solus adesse malis.  
Adsis, at oppressis Dux CHRIST salutifer adsis,  
Afflictásque iwes maxim Pastor oves.  
Pastor oves tueare tuas, quas perdere pastor  
Qui ferus Ausonia regnat in urbe, studet.  
Respice nos, tutíque tuae sub robore dextrae,  
Da precor adversas vincere posse manus:  
Pax redeat, nostrósque lares tranquilla revisat,  
Et comites, pulsas orb, reducat ovans.  
Cana fides redeat, redeant probitásque pudórque,  
Astraea & solitis det pia iura locis.  
At lites valeant, valeant at praelia, saevi  
Exulet immani Martis at orb furor.  
Quaeque tuam nivea defendit pace Sareptam,  
Tuta sit auxillis ELIZABETHA tuis.  
Audiit, & coelo spes in mea pectora venit,  
Et melior spero qui venit annus erit.   

AD GULIELMUM NORRICIUM, Henrici Norricij fil. natu max. summae spei iuuenem, Epigramma.  
Stemmate nobilium quòd sis Gulielme parentum  
Ortus, & innumeros quòd numeres atavos,  
Clarus es, & populo charissimus inde Britanno,  
Nobilis & titulum fulgidáque arma geris.  
At potius purae virtutis captus amore,  
Quòd vitas vitij semina quaeque mali,  
Quòd pietate refers niveo & candore parentem,  
Est tibi quòd curae cum probitate fides,  
Nobilis & verè clarus Gulielme probaris,  
Hinc tua nobilitas suspicienda fuit.  
D. ROGERIUS.   

ANNO MDLXVIII.  
CALEND. JANVAR.