Book IX, Chapter 45

AVert your eyes and eares, all yee, that enuie her the fame
Of more renowmed Regment than our fluent Thoughts can name.
Yee that conceite such Poemes as more learned not conceaue,
Reade not the rest, but silently euen at this line doe leaue.
Ridled Poesies, and those significantly flowe,
Differ in eares as doe in mouths the Apricock and Slowe.
Phisitians bylles not Patients but Apothecaries know:
Some moderne Poets with themselues be hardly inward so:
Not intellectiuely to write is learnedly they troe:
Whereby they hit Capacities, as blind-man hits the Croe.
Nor Those, not These, feare thou, my Muse, but mildly sing the prayes
Of these our present times, lesse grosse than those of elder daies.
Our world hath made it course that as the Moone doth wax & waine
From gold to siluer, then to iron, and now to golde againe.
Of whose faire-cured Leaprosie from former twaine to golde,
(For in a Quintessence was all eare Gods worlds-curse of olde)
The vndeluding Alcumist is that Elizabeth
Whom English, yea and Alients, hold a Goddesse on the Earth.
Elizabeth by Peace, by warre, for Maiestie for Milde,
Inriched, feared, honor'd, Lou'd, at wel meant Toyes hath smilde,
Let then Mnemosines controule, as well they may our Muse,
We shall such grace wheare we transgresse for Supersedias vse.
Phoebus, thine humbled Phaeton this second boone doth aske,
'That thou wouldst giue, and ioyntly guide, to, & with me, thy Taske:
Infuse Apollo too into thy selfe, thy selfe in me:
Yeat then our mightie Subiect threats will much omission be.
But what implore I Fictions? that I well imploye my penne,
Eternall God, say thou (which thou all-only canste) Amen.

When Iupiter and Arcas yong (the Sier, and Sonne) had clos'de
Saturnus in Italian Hell, not to be baylde suppos'de,
Then Proserpin, blacke Dis his wife, inlargd the Wrangler thence,
To vex her Sister, crosse her Siers and Brothers sownd pretence.
Then she, euen she whom Cynthia some, and some doe Pallas call,
(Yt skils not whether, Eithers lawdes doe aptly her befal)
By Saturne, Dis, and Proserpin, giltles molested longe,
Vnto the God y'clip't, I-Am, thus motioneth her wronge.
O mightiest Mightie, that of nought createdst all that is,
And gauste to Man (thy noblest Worke) him selfe, and all for his,
And, saue Obedience, didst impose on him no other Fine,
And, disobaying, didst redeeme his Losse with decrest Thyne,
Which selfe same Thyne, and still same-Oures, I also intercesse,
For thee professing being wrong'd, to haue at length redresse.
Scarce this was sayd when thus ensewd, the Three weare rapted hence.
Saturne and Dis confinde their Hells: Proserpin her offence,
Growen through Mis-Guides, Veniall perhaps, we censure in suspence,
And faire, lou'd, feard, Elizabeth heere Goddiz'd euer sence.

For me to wreste from Hercules his Club as easie weare,
As in the Ocean of her fame, with choysest sayles, to beare
That fraight, yt with the Indiā wealth may more then much cōpare.
Yeat how th'Italian Feends did freat and hetherto inuaye
Against thy glory, gracious Saincte, weare ouerlong to saye.
But he that of a Prisnor thee so great a Prince did frame,
Thy louing, and beloued God, to thee is still the same.

King Phillips-selfe (so doting on his Pope-created Crewe,
That, he it suffring, his owne Son and heire those Locusts slewe,
Because they feared he would proue vnto the Gospell trewe,)
Euen Phillip, now that raketh hell for rascall brybed Skomes
To ridde thee hence (indignities that badly him becomes)
Once had thee, then not hauing power to doe thee any harme.
It is the worke of God (let Rome vncursse, let Spaine vn-arme)
That thou art Queene, to plant his word, when we could hope it least,
When Ours, & all the Kings had cast their Crownes before the beast,
When greedely the Preists of Baal did for thy ruine gape,
Thou didst, vnharmde, the Lyons denne and firie Ouen escape.
Euen thē when Tryumphs were in hand, bells ronge, & bonfires made,
Because Queene Mary of a sonne deliuered was said,
Euen then, I say, God mortifide that womb, to bring to passe,
That vnto thee, his Queene-elect, no Issue letting was:
That soone Religion and our Realme might welcome wished peace:
Maiest thou, the Cause thereof, suruiue long after my decease.
But if it be his will, to whom are all Euents fore-knowne,
That Papistrie shall in our Land againe erect her Throne,
Let Spaniards, or what Tyrants els, be Masters heere, so thay
Take also with our Land our Liues, and rid vs out the way.
For not they only die, but die in lingring Torments, who
Fault to their Inquisition, o[…] their Damned Rytes must doe:
Then better Bodies perish than should soules miscarrie too:
Of neither which hath Rome or Spaine remorse, but thristing Sway,
Regard not whome, by whom, or how, they treacherously berray:
How oft haue they, the rest ore past, subborn'd our Queenes decay?
By wars, wiles, witchcrafts, daggers, dags, Pope, poyson, & what not?
To her haue they attempted death, for liewe the Traytors lot:
Vouchsafe, O God, those loues of thine be neuermore forgot.
Was neuer any thryued yet that threatned her amis:
For of anoynted Princes God sole Iudge and Rector is.
And if Examples might preuaile, then Traytors might perceaue,
They perish in their purpose, or but Spyders webbes doe weaue.
And heere occasion apteth that we catalogue awhile,
And vnto English Dukes, from first to last, addresse our Style:
Though numbers greater, & as great of power, did pryde begyle,
Yeat in this one degree obserue what headding and exile:
Yf then such Mighties felt Gods frowne, shal Meaners hope his smile?