Avon That Never Thirsts, nor Toils Along

Avon that never thirsts, nor toils along,
Nor looks in anger, listen'd to my song,
So that I envied not the passing names
Whose gilded barges burnisht prouder Thames,
Remembering well a better man than I,
Whom in those meads the giddy herd ran by,
What time the generous Raleigh bled to death,
And Lust and Craft play'd for Elizabeth.
While Murder in imperial robe sat by
To watch the twinkling of that sharp stern eye,
Till when a sister-queen was call'd to bleed,
Her fingers cased in jewels sign'd the deed!