 | The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable |  |
xli
TO THE K. OF SCOTS, WHOME AS YET HE HAD NOT SEENE.
Bloome of the rose! I hope those hands to kisse
Which yonge a scepter, which olde wisdome bore;
And offer up joy-sacrifice before
Thy altar-throne for that receaved blisse.
Which yonge a scepter, which olde wisdome bore;
And offer up joy-sacrifice before
Thy altar-throne for that receaved blisse.
Yet, prince of hope! suppose not for all this
That I thy place and not thy guifts adore;
Thy scepter, no, thy pen, I honoure more;
More deare to me then crowne thy garland is;
That I thy place and not thy guifts adore;
Thy scepter, no, thy pen, I honoure more;
More deare to me then crowne thy garland is;
That laurell garland which, if hope say true,
To thee for deeds of prowesse shall belong,
And now allreadie unto thee is due,
As to a David for a kinglie throne.
The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly singe
Made of a quill pluckt from an angell's winge.
To thee for deeds of prowesse shall belong,
And now allreadie unto thee is due,
As to a David for a kinglie throne.
The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly singe
Made of a quill pluckt from an angell's winge.
| The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable | |