To the Queene of Haruest

Haile fruifull Ladie, cheerer of our time,
Rare in thy bewtie, in thy state diuine,
Ripener of Haruest, thou it is whose birth
Yields full encrease vnto the fertile earth:
Thou art that cheering mother that renues
The Plow-mans hope, and giues their toile those dewes,
Which makes them happie, may my Poems please
Thy honourd selfe, that glads vs with encrease
Yet in my mirth I cannot but repine
At that vnhappy ackward losse of thine,
That thou which euer hast been debonaire,
Faire in thy selfe, making our fields as faire,
With thy ender'd respect, should be exilde,
Of due content, by loosing of thy childe,
Thy heart, thy hope, thy loue, and thy delight,
Thy deare Proserpiua, whose vowe is plight
Vnto, alasse I cannot speake it well,
That black-blacht-blabber-lipt foule Prince of hell.
Yet be contented, manie one there bee,
Yea I know som which may lament with thee
For their straide daughters, who I much doe feare
Are lodged now, or will be lodged there.
Lasse it is nothing for maides now adaies
For which of them (though modest) hath not straies,
In youth, in age, which straying I doe call,
Dotage in maides, and that is worst of all.
How manie haue wee in this error swerud,
Who in themselues haue iustly wel deserud.
That punishment thy daughter first regainde,
'Las I haue known them though they seem containd
In modest bounds, yet thus much I will say,
Thy daughter was vnchast & so were they.
And (pray thee Ceres) credit me in this,
Though my proceeding was not to my wish,
Yet this to thy due comfort I must tell,
Thy daughter doth not liue in Hell
Without acquaintance, yea I know there are,
Though they in sumptuous raiment and in fare
Seeme to excell the worthies of our Land,
Yet being iustly poized vnder hand,
They are as neere to Pluto and his heire,
As if those persons that lesse gorgeous were,
May I speake more, for I am in a vaine,
To cull strange things out of a stragling braine,
That there's no wench truly ingenious,
Wittie by nature, or ambitious
In her conceipt, but that the time will come,
That she will wander full as farre from home,
As ere thy deare Proserpina distraide,
Transform'd from beauty of a louely maide.
To be a drudge ('lasse I am forc't to tell)
Vnto the base-borne Skinkird bred in Hell.
Doe I not know thee Ceres? yes, I know
Far more of thee, then I intend to shew
In publique eie: 'Lasse I doe know thy worth,
To be the fruitfull Mother of the earth,
Albions faire-Fostermother, yea that Queen,
That makes a hopefull Haruest to be seene.
Within our flourie Fields: if I might say,
What I in due respect am bound alwaie
For to expresse I might example thee,
To be the glorie of our progenie;
Honour of ages, and successe of time,
Errecting to thy selfe that noble shrine,
Which nere shall be defaced by time or age,
The best of labour in our Pilgrimage.
Then Ceres let thy daughter work, for one
Thou art in due respect admir'd alone
To be the soueraignesse of Albions Ile,
Who when retired braines doe sleep the while,
Shalt shew thy selfe worthy a sacred power,
Though thy vaine daughter play in hell the whore.
Yea fit it is, and suting to her birth,
She should play baud in hell plaid whore on earth.