Huic ne credere tutissimum

SWEETE Bird, who taught thee here to build thy nest?
(In greater saf'tie then MEDEA's shrine,)
Did Hap, or that thou knew'sta Crowne the best,
From iniurie to shelter thee and thine?
How much I did thy happines envie,
When first I saw thee singing, hither flie.

Your glories Type, even so ye sacred Kinges,
In highest place, the weaker one to sheild,
Thus vnder that sweete shadow of your winges,
Best loues the Artes, and Innocence to build:
And thus my Muse, that never saf'tie knew,
With weary wing, great HENRIE flies to you.