University of Virginia Library



To her High Maiestie.

Wits rich triumph, Wisdomes glorie,
Arts chronicle, Learnings storie,
Towre of goodnes, vertue, bewtie:
Forgiue me, that presume to lay
My labours in your cleere eies ray:
This boldnes springs frō faith, zeal, dewtie.
Her hand, her lap, her vestures hem,
Muse touch not for polluting them,
All that is hers is pure, cleere, holie,
Before her footstoole humble lie,
So may she blesse thee with her eie,
The sunne shines not on good things solie.
Oliue of peace, Angell of pleasure,
What line of praise can your worth measure?
Calme sea of blisse which no shore boundeth,
Fame fils the world no more with lies,
But busied in your histories
Her trumpet those true wonders soundeth:
O Fame, say all the good thou maist,
Too little is that all thou saist,
What if her selfe her selfe commended?
Should we then know nere knowne before,
Whether her wit, or worth were more?
Ah no! that booke would nere be ended.
Your Maiesties humble subiect, Edward Fairefax.