 | Welcome to James I |  |
An Epitaph vpon the death of our late Soueraigne Ladie, of famous memory Queene Elizableth.
All
dames that euer tryumpht in ioy,
With sorrowfull hearts come waile ye.
Your pleasant Songs may turne to sobbes,
No sighings can preuaile yee:
A Diamond flower of late ye lost,
Whose loyall heart was kept with cost,
For euer let fame her name goe boast.
With sorrowfull hearts come waile ye.
Your pleasant Songs may turne to sobbes,
No sighings can preuaile yee:
A Diamond flower of late ye lost,
Whose loyall heart was kept with cost,
For euer let fame her name goe boast.
Shee makes me sigh when I should sleepe,
With blubberd teares lamenting,
No earthly ioy can profer'd be,
To my poore hearts contenting:
But still, and still in sorrow I say,
A precious pearle is turn'd to clay,
Whose vertues floorisht as flower in may.
With blubberd teares lamenting,
No earthly ioy can profer'd be,
To my poore hearts contenting:
But still, and still in sorrow I say,
A precious pearle is turn'd to clay,
Whose vertues floorisht as flower in may.
This wretched life compar'd may be,
Vnto the flowers springing,
Or to the bird on loftie bush,
That surged notes is singing:
Yet in the minute of an houre.
The fowler doth her breath deuour,
And life retaines no longer power.
Vnto the flowers springing,
Or to the bird on loftie bush,
That surged notes is singing:
Yet in the minute of an houre.
The fowler doth her breath deuour,
And life retaines no longer power.
The fragrants flower that euer did grow,
The beauty will be fleeting,
The brauest branch that euer did blow,
With Sythe sometime is meeting:
The stoutest h'art that ere was borne,
Hath been disgrac't and left forlorne,
Death holdes all golden giftes in scorne.
The beauty will be fleeting,
The brauest branch that euer did blow,
With Sythe sometime is meeting:
The stoutest h'art that ere was borne,
Hath been disgrac't and left forlorne,
Death holdes all golden giftes in scorne.
What though her mortall shape be gone?
Her memorie restes behinde her:
Deseruing praise of worthy dames,
That many a day will minde her.
Then though her corpes be shrin'd in clay,
And death hath reft her hence away,
Her noble fame shall liue for aye.
Her memorie restes behinde her:
Deseruing praise of worthy dames,
That many a day will minde her.
Then though her corpes be shrin'd in clay,
And death hath reft her hence away,
Her noble fame shall liue for aye.
Virtutie excepta, concedunt omnia fato.
FINIS.
| Welcome to James I | |