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Eleg. 7.
[Nor thine sweet Charles, nor thine Elizabeth]
Nor thine sweet Charles, nor thine Elizabeth,
Though one of you have gaind a Princedome by't;
The griefe he hath to have it by the death
Of his sole Brother, makes his heart deny't,
Yet let not sorrows black obscuring clowd
Quite cover and eclipse all comforts light,
Though one fair Star above our height doth shrow'd
Let not the earth be left in darknesse quite.
Thou Charles art now our hope, God grant it be
More certain than our last; we trust it will:
Yet we shall have a loving feare of thee,
The burned childe the fire much dreadeth still.
But God loves his, and what e'er sorrows threat,
I one day hope to see him Charles the Great.
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