Hibernica Respub

WHILE I lay bathed in my natiue blood,
And yeelded nought saue harsh, & hellish soundes:
And saue from Heauen, I had no hope of good,
Thou pittiedst (Dread Soveraigne) my woundes,
Repair'dst my ruine, and with Ivorie key,
Didst tune my stringes, that slackt or broken lay.

Now since I breathed by thy Roiall hand,
And found my concord, by so smooth a tuch,
I giue the world abroade to vnderstand,
Ne're was the musick of old Orpheus such,
As that I make, by meane (Deare Lord) of thee,
From discord drawne, to sweetest vnitie.