Of the renowmed Lady, Lady Anne Countesse Warwick

AN Earle was your Sire a worthie Wight,
A Cowntesse gaue you Tet, a Noble Dame,
An Earle is your Féere, a Mars outright,
A Cowntesse eke your selfe of bruted fame.
A Brother Lorde, your Father Earles Sonne,
Thus doth your line in Lordes and Earles ronne.
You were well knowne of Russels race a childe,
Of Bedfords blood that now doth liue an Earle,
Now Warwicks wife, a warlike man in fielde,
A Venus Péere, a ritch and Orient Pearle,
Wherefore to you that Sister, Childe, and Wife
To Lorde and Earles are, I wish long life.
You Alpha were when I this Booke begoonne
And formost, as became your state, did stande,
To be Omega now you will not shoonne,
(O Noble Dame) I trust: but take with hande
This ragged rime, and with a courteous looke
And Cowntesse eie pervse this tryfling Booke.