Classic Poem

To the high and mighty monarch of Great Brittaine, my most deere Soncraigne, King Iames

For bounty, clemency and chastity,
(Three vertues which in Caesars sildome meete)
No king that euer swaid this monarchy
To rules of grace and peace, hath made so meete:
Bloud thou abhorest, sith (oft) thereon doth fleete
Extremity of Law to worlds of wrong:
But bitter bloud thou makest suger sweete,
In the right veines to which it doth belong
If some escape those channells, griu'd thou art
And long'st to stop it straite (so maist thou long)
Thou want'st no will, much lesse wit, powre or art,
To heale thy Commons' hutts and make them strong:
Then with a ladies hand sith thou wouldst cure,
The sore's too sore that cannot that endure.