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The poems of Queen Elizabeth I

Edited by Leicester Bradner
(1533-1603)

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ORIGINAL POEMS
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Poems of Undoubted Authorship
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Poems of Doubtful Authorship
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VERSE TRANSLATIONS

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ORIGINAL POEMS
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Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

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Poems of Undoubted Authorship

WRITTEN WITH A DIAMOND ON HER WINDOW AT WOODSTOCK

Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be,
Quoth Elizabeth prisoner.

WRITTEN ON A WALL AT WOODSTOCK

Oh fortune, thy wresting wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit,
Whose witness this present prison late
Could bear, where once was joy's loan quit.
Thou causedst the guilty to be loosed
From bands where innocents were inclosed,
And caused the guiltless to be reserved,
And freed those that death had well deserved.
But all herein can be nothing wrought,
So God send to my foes all they have thought.
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WRITTEN IN HER FRENCH PSALTER

No crooked leg, no bleared eye,
No part deformed out of kind,
Nor yet so ugly half can be
As is the inward suspicious mind.

THE DOUBT OF FUTURE FOES

The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.
But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds,
Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.
The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,
And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see.
The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds.
The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know.
No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port;
Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.
My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ
To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.
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ON FORTUNE

Never think you fortune can bear the sway
Where virtue's force can cause her to obey.

ON MONSIEUR'S DEPARTURE

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
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Poems of Doubtful Authorship

CHRIST WAS THE WORD
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Christ was the Word that spake it;
He took the bread and brake it,
And what the Word did make it,
That I believe and take it.

FOUR KNIGHTS OF NOTTINGHAMSHIRE
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Gervase the gentle, Stanhope the stout,
Markham the lion, and Sutton the lout.

REBUS ON NOEL'S NAME
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The word of denial and the letter of fifty
Makes the gentleman's name that will never be thrifty. Noel's reply:
The foe to the stomach and the word of disgrace
Shows the gentleman's name with the bold face.
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REPLY TO RALEIGH
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[Fain would I climb yet fear I to fall.]
If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all.

AN ENGLISH HEXAMETER
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Persius a crab-staff, bawdy Martial, Ovid a fine wag.

WHEN I WAS FAIR AND YOUNG
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be,
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe,
How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show,
But I the prouder grew and still this spake therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
Then spake fair Venus' son, that brave victorious boy,
Saying: You dainty dame, for that you be so coy,
I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
As soon as he had said, such change grew in my breast
That neither night nor day I could take any rest.
Wherefore I did repent that I had said before:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
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EPITAPH MADE BY THE QUEEN'S MAJESTY AT THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS OF ESPINOYE
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

When the warrior Phoebus goeth to make his round
With a painful course to t'other hemisphere,
A dark shadow, a great horror and a fear
In I know not what clouds environ the ground.
And even so for Pinoy, that fair virtuous lady
(Although Jupiter have in this horizon
Made a star of her by the Ariadnian crown),
Mourns, dolor and grief accompany our body.
O Atropos, thou hast done a work perverst,
And as a bird that hath lost both young and nest
About the place where it was makes many a turn,
Even so doth Cupid, that infant god of amor,
Fly about the tomb where she lies all in dolor,
Weeping for her eyes wherein he made sojourn.

NOW LEAVE AND LET ME REST
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Now leave and let me rest,
Dame Pleasure be content;
Go choose among the best,
My doting days be spent.
By sundry signs I see
Thy proffers are but vain,
And wisdom warneth me
That pleasure asketh pain.
And Nature that doth know
How time her steps doth try
Gives place to painful woe
And bids me learn to die.
Since all fair earthly things
Soon ripe will soon be rot,
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And all that pleasant springs
Soon withered, soon forgot.
And youth that yields new joys
That wanton lust desires
In age repents the toys
That reckless youth requires.
All which delights I leave
To such as folly trains
By pleasure to deceive
Till they do feel the pains.
And from vain pleasures past
I fly and fain would know
The happy life at last
Whereto I hope to go,
For words or wise reports
Or yet examples gone
Can bridle youthful sports
Till age comes stealing on.
The pleasant courtly games
That I delighted in,
Mine elder age now shames
Such follies to begin,
And all the fancies strange
That fond delight brought forth
I do intend to change
And count them nothing worth.
For I by process worn
Am taught to know the skill
What might have been forborne
In my young reckless will.
By which good proof I fleet.
From will to wit again
In hope to set my feet
In surety to remain.
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