 | Ivvenilia |  |
Eleg. 39.
[Amidst our sacred sports that very season]
Amidst our sacred sports that very season,Whilst for our Countrey and beloved Iames,
Preserved from that hell-bred Powder-Treason,
We rung and sung with shouts and joyfull flames:
Me thought upon the sudden I espi'd
Romes damned fiends an antick dance begin,
The Furies led it that our blisse envi'd,
And at our rites the hell-hounds seem'd to grin.
How now, thought I! more plots! and with that thought
Prince Henry dead, I plainly heard one cry.
O Lord (quoth I) now they have that they sought,
Yet let not our gladst-day, our sadst-day dye.
God seem'd to heare, for he to ease our sorrow,
Reviv'd that day, to die again the morrow.
| Ivvenilia | |