A Prophesie of Cadwallader, last King of the Britaines Containing a Comparison of the English Kings, with many worthy Romanes, from William Rufus, till Henry the fift. Henry the fift, his life and death. Foure Battels betweene the two Houses of Yorke and Lancanster. The Field of Banbery. The losse of Elizabeth. The praise of King Iames. And lastly a Poeme to the yong Prince [by William Harbert] |
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To the Reader.
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 | A Prophesie of Cadwallader, last King of the Britaines |  |
To the Reader.
I Which in silence nest so many dayes
Smoothered the flight of my vnfeathered quill,
Because I knew it could not merit prayse,
Here where the Muses sang and shewd their skill,
For this did seeme to be Parnassus hill:
But this amaz'd my minde, and grieu'd mine eye
To see the Buzards with the Eagles flye.
Smoothered the flight of my vnfeathered quill,
Because I knew it could not merit prayse,
Here where the Muses sang and shewd their skill,
For this did seeme to be Parnassus hill:
But this amaz'd my minde, and grieu'd mine eye
To see the Buzards with the Eagles flye.
To see a troupe of Souldiers neuer tride,
Besiege a fort by nature fenc'd on high,
I was asham'd to see the heires of pride,
Debase in vnexperienc'd Poetry,
The immortall vertues of great Maiestie,
I these are they that do the Muses staine,
One wanton pen makes all be iudged vaine.
Besiege a fort by nature fenc'd on high,
I was asham'd to see the heires of pride,
Debase in vnexperienc'd Poetry,
The immortall vertues of great Maiestie,
I these are they that do the Muses staine,
One wanton pen makes all be iudged vaine.
I which securely on these errours gaz'd,
And safely stood vpon the silent shore,
When others Ships by enuies rockes were craz'd,
Loue me constrain'd, as pride did them before,
To trust the rockes and leaue the silent shore:
The loue of friends, not prayse did me perswade,
Against my will, against the streames to wade.
And safely stood vpon the silent shore,
When others Ships by enuies rockes were craz'd,
Loue me constrain'd, as pride did them before,
To trust the rockes and leaue the silent shore:
The loue of friends, not prayse did me perswade,
Against my will, against the streames to wade.
Therefore to you whose iudgement is sincere,
If any fault, as many faults there be,
Seeme harsh and iarring to a tuned eare,
Impute the blame to those, and not to me,
Who made my pen shew his infirmitie:
If any good as small there is you see,
Reape you the profit, yeeld but thankes to me.
If any fault, as many faults there be,
Seeme harsh and iarring to a tuned eare,
Impute the blame to those, and not to me,
Who made my pen shew his infirmitie:
If any good as small there is you see,
Reape you the profit, yeeld but thankes to me.
| A Prophesie of Cadwallader, last King of the Britaines | |