 | John Harington of Stepney |  |
117
II A 25
[The Daughters deare of mightie Jove the great]
The Daughters deare of mightie Jove the great
Commaunded me all barren of suche skill
no tyme to tract but wryte withouten let
Suche lynes as they thearwith, my pen shuld fill
Her Royall race first to discryve aright
Her vertues then, eache one to putt in sight
Commaunded me all barren of suche skill
no tyme to tract but wryte withouten let
Suche lynes as they thearwith, my pen shuld fill
Her Royall race first to discryve aright
Her vertues then, eache one to putt in sight
Her noble lyne no stayned stock by kynde
her blood moste rare that Brytayne forthe hath brought
Her Honour highe, suche fewe, or none to fynd
Her seemelye shape Dame nature so hathe wrought
This Paragon whose perfect molde thus made
theise bene her giftes, whiche can not fayle ne fade
her blood moste rare that Brytayne forthe hath brought
Her Honour highe, suche fewe, or none to fynd
Her seemelye shape Dame nature so hathe wrought
This Paragon whose perfect molde thus made
theise bene her giftes, whiche can not fayle ne fade
A prudent head Dame Pallas perfect crest
A memorye so lyvelye quyck allwaye
A pearcinge eye, well judging of the rest
A Sylent tongue, no trust that can bewraye
A sweete rownd face, with stayed countennaunce right
Wheare Vertue Raignes, Joyned with bewtie bright
A memorye so lyvelye quyck allwaye
A pearcinge eye, well judging of the rest
A Sylent tongue, no trust that can bewraye
A sweete rownd face, with stayed countennaunce right
Wheare Vertue Raignes, Joyned with bewtie bright
A blisfull brest wheare in in setlid sure
A hart from whence eache noble vertue flowes
A mynd so myxte, aye modest to endure
A hope so stronge, not fearing secreat foes
A good desyre, the quyet life to lead
not thristing rule, no under foote be tread
A hart from whence eache noble vertue flowes
A mynd so myxte, aye modest to endure
A hope so stronge, not fearing secreat foes
A good desyre, the quyet life to lead
not thristing rule, no under foote be tread
118
A fervent Zeale, humblie her prince to serve
A faithfull frend, wheare fast frindship she fyndes
A gratefull one, to suche as well deserve
As Ivye braunche, she frindshipp Lynckes and byndes
A constant Corps, in causes great or small
Whome frownes ne threattes, can move to ryse or fall
A faithfull frend, wheare fast frindship she fyndes
A gratefull one, to suche as well deserve
As Ivye braunche, she frindshipp Lynckes and byndes
A constant Corps, in causes great or small
Whome frownes ne threattes, can move to ryse or fall
A hand whiche hates, that noysome nygardes craves
A deadlye foe unto those mysers all
A Ruler of, that maketh moste men slaves
A graund mystres, making the same her thrall
A Ladye suche, straight laste, lykes not to be
A pittyefull one, to eache in their degree
A deadlye foe unto those mysers all
A Ruler of, that maketh moste men slaves
A graund mystres, making the same her thrall
A Ladye suche, straight laste, lykes not to be
A pittyefull one, to eache in their degree
A Courtyer suche, for curtesye and grace
As best besyttes, suche noble state to be
A furnyture, when as she comes in place
of worthie bloode, eache eye deemes her to be
A margaret Stone, most Straunge and rare of kynd
Whose vertues all, within her breast bene shrynde
As best besyttes, suche noble state to be
A furnyture, when as she comes in place
of worthie bloode, eache eye deemes her to be
A margaret Stone, most Straunge and rare of kynd
Whose vertues all, within her breast bene shrynde
Wheare with alas, the muses then me lefte
the uglye black, and they could not agree
bothe Pen and style, from me by force berefte
in naked sorte, me seemed so to be
tyll I espyed, that state amyd the throng
to whome was sent, by me theise muses song
the uglye black, and they could not agree
bothe Pen and style, from me by force berefte
in naked sorte, me seemed so to be
tyll I espyed, that state amyd the throng
to whome was sent, by me theise muses song
| John Harington of Stepney | |