To Our Blessed Lady

In that, O Queene of queenes! thy byrth was free
From guylt, which others do of grace bereave,
When in theyr mothers wombe they lyfe receave,
God, as his sole-borne daughter loved thee;
To matche thee lyke thy byrthes nobillitye,
He thee hys Spyryt for thy spouse dyd leave
Of whome thou dydd'st his onely Sonne conceave,
And so was lynk'd to all the Trinitye.
Cease then, O queenes! who earthly crownes do weare,
To glory in the pompe of worldly thynges:
If men such hyghe respect unto you beare,
Which daughters, wyves, and mothers ar of kynges;
What honour should unto that Queene be donne
Who had your God for father, spowse, and sonne?