University of Virginia Library

ELIAZABETH, LATE QVEENE OF ENGLAND, HER GHOST.

Cease louing Subiects, cease my death for to deplore,
And do no more with dririe cryes my dolful hearse decore
Though like Cynegirus, when both the hands are gone,
Yee would detaine me with your teeth in my Emperiall throne.
Bee Thracians now I pray, and hence-foorth cease to mone,
Ere it be long in quiet peace ye shall finde fiue for one:
For if you can beleeue my prophetizing ghost,
Æneas gaue Anchises trust, you shall not thinke me lost.
The death of one (some say) the birth of one should bee:
Three mails & femels two you haue, most famous fiue for mee:
For as I seald my Will, my Designation dew,
And did concredit by the rest to my Achates trew:
So now my ghost is glad, that by my care his paine,
My countries haue their lawfull King, the King his crowns againe,
Then bransh imbellis'd soyle, most pleasant, most perfite:
The onely earthly Eden now for pleasure and delighte.
Rich England now reioyce, heaue vp to heauen thy hands,
The blessed Lord hath blest thy bounds beyond al other lands.
Since no Sardanapal is now become thy King,
No Dionise nor Nero proud, my death to thee doth bring.
A King vnwoont to giue, or yet to take offence:
A godly Dauid ruleth now, a Prophet and a Prince.
The Pupill now is blith, the Widow weepes not now,
No depredations in thy boundes, the Rushbush keeps the Kow,
The Lyons now agree, and do in Peace delight:
The Thirsel now defends & guards the red Rose & the white.
The british Saints shake hands with crosses ioynd and spred,
Whose cullours on the glassie salt no terror small haue bred:
Those now conioynd in one through Neptuns bounded roares,
Shal make the ventring merche and sail secure to forane shoares:
Flee swift-wingd Fame & tell the best & rarest new's
That time hath yet brought soorth by night or dayes delightfull hew's,
For Ships & Swans most rich, most faire, & famous Thamis,
Tell Neptune, Thetis, Triton too the haps of great king IAMES.
Thou murdring Galliglas, who long my Laws withstood,
Learne to obey, and bath no more thy blade in british blood:
All you my Subiects deire, do homage dew to him,
And that shal make my blessed ghost in boundles ioyes to swim.