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xxxix

TO THE QUEENE: TOUCHING THE CRUELL EFFECTS OF HER PERFECTIONS.

Most sacred Prince! why should I thee thus prayse
Which both of sin and sorrowe cawse has beene:
Proude hast thow made thy land of such a Queene;
Thy neighboures enviouse of thy happie dayes.
Whoe never saw the sunshine of thy rayes,
An everlasting night his life doth ween;
And he whose eyes thy eyes but once have seene
A thousand signes of burning thoughts bewrayes.
Thus sin thow caus'd, (envye, I meane, & pride)
Thus sin and darknesse doe proceed from thee;
The very paynes which men in hell abide.
Oh no; not hell, but purgatorie this,
Whose sowles some say by angells punish'd be,
For thou art shee from whome this torment is.