Classic Poem

O had Truth power the guiltlesse could not fall,
Malice winne Glorie, or Revenge triumphe;
But Truth alone can not encounter all.

Mercie is fled to God, which Mercie made,
Compassion dead, Faith turn'd to pollicye,
Freinds know not those who site in Sorrows shade.

For what we somtyme were, wee are no more,
Fortune hath chang'd our shape, and Destinie
Defac'd the vearye forme wee had before.

All love and all Desert of former tymes
Malice hath covered from my Soveraignes Eies,
And largelie laid abroad supposed Crimes.

But kyngs call not to mynd what Vassalls were,
But know them now, as Envie hath descriv'd them
So can I looke on no syde from Despaire.

Cold walles to you I speake but you are senslesse,
Celestiall Powers you heare, but have determined,
And shall determine to my greatest happinesse.

Then unto whom shall I unfold my wrong,
Cast downe my teares or hold up folded hands?
To her to whom remorse doth most belong.

To her who is the first and maye alone
Be justlie calld the empresse of the Brettannes
Who should have mercye if a Queene have none?

Save those that would have died for your defence
Save him whose thoughts no treason ever tainted
For loe, destruction is no recompense.

If I have sold my duetye, sold my faith,
To strangers, which was onlye due to one,
No thing I should estime so deare as Death

But if both God and tyme shall make you know
That I your humblest vassell am opprest,
Then cast your eyes on undeserved woe,

That I and myne maye never murne the misse
Of her wee had, but praise our living Queene,
Who brings us equall, if not greater, Blisse.