A witty speech of Heywood to the Queene

WHen old Queen Mary with much pain & languish,
Did on deaths bed in lingring sicknesse languish:
Old pleasant Heywood came her Grace to vise:
For mirth o such doth oft more good then Phisicke,
Whom, when the sickly Princesse had espyde,
Ah, Heywood! here they kill me vp, she cryde:
For, being smotherd quite with too much heate,
Yet my Physicians proue to make me sweat;
But it doth proue so painefull to procure it,
That first Ile die before I will endure it.
Heywood, with cheerefull face, but cheerelesse soule,
Thus her bad resolution did controule.
Sweet Lady, you must sweat, or else, I sweare it,
We shall all sweat for it, if you forbeare it.