Three Precious Teares of Blood Flowing from the wounded harts of three great French Ladies. In Memory of the Vertues, complaint of the losse, and execration of the murther, of that thrice-worthy Monarch, Henry the Great. Now shed aganne in English [by Richard Niccols] |
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| 1. | The first teare, IN MEMORY AND PRAISE OF THAT FAMOVS MONARCH, HENRY the Great. |
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 | Three Precious Teares of Blood |  |
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The first teare, IN MEMORY AND PRAISE OF THAT FAMOVS MONARCH, HENRY the Great.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE COVNTESSE OF DERBIE.
1
Like thundring Ioue, or like all-conquering Mars,I made great Hectors quake with my alarms,
I brau'd the fates, and in my hardest warres
Made horror selfe yeeld honor to my armes.
2
I sau'd my Lillies from a crimson floodOf bloody hearts rebellious to my Crowne:
They thoght to drown me quite in streams of blood,
In streames of courage I their thoughts did drowne.
3
The pride of Nations against me was bent,But like the sea which Neptun's force assayles:
For those lowd stormes were but Alcions, sent
To fixe the anchor of my peacefull sayles.
4
Vnder the weight of my victorious bayesI crush'd that Hydra which my Fraunce opprest,
And gaue my subiects leaue to passe their dayes
Vnder the oliue-shades of peace and rest.
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Attlas, Olimpus; I this world vpheld,Which I made shrincke vnder my trophees loade:
Snow not so thicke lyes vpon mountaynes swel'd
As Palms, Bayes, Lillies, on my high abode.
6
The Poles did ttemble at my conquest's sound,Th'Antipodes did feare my victories,
Of all that could be conquer'd on the ground,
I made my feete aboue their heade to rise.
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Thus, did I but prescribe the lawes to things,My name their obiect was that greatest are,
My fortune made me Monarch ouer Kings,
My martiall heart, the Genius of the warre.
8
For my last triumph heau'n I should haue had,But such a pray's not gotten by the blade,
And yet the blade of an audacious mad
Thither my soule hath with a stroke conuaide.
9
Behold, how still the steele doth guide my fate,And here cut out my victories below,
Now since by steele the Cesars end their state,
By steele why should not my last triumphs grow?
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A heau'n of little Gods my pompe enioy'd,The Lillies of my Iunoes bed which grac't;
Only of heau'ns sweet Nectar I was void,
Earth hauing nothing worthy of my tast.
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When to this heau'nly rest my sprit did rise,With palme I was by God's great Dolphin crown'd,
My little Dolphin had a crowne likewise,
His on his head, mine on my soule was found.
12
Thus both at once are Kings, not for one cause,The one to pay his vowes is thron'd in glory,
The other to establish armes and lawes,
Yet both to raigne in times eternall story.
| Three Precious Teares of Blood | |