Psalm 45 (Eructavit cor meum)

My harte endites an argument of worth,
The praise of him that doth the scepter swaye:
My tongue the pen to paynt his praises forth,
Shall write as swift, as swiftest writer may.
Then to the king these are the wordes I say:
Fairer art thou than sonnes of mortall race,
Because high God hath blessed thee for ay,
Thie lipps, as springs, doe flowe with speaking grace.

Thie honors sword gird to thy mightie side,
O thou that dost all things in might excell;
With glory prosper, on with triumph ride,
Since justice, truth, and meeknes with thee dwell.
Soe that right hande of thine shall teaching tell,
Such things to thee, as well may terror bring,
And terror, such as never erst befell
To mortall mindes at sight of mortall king.

Sharpe are thie shaftes to cleave their hartes in twaine,
Whose heads doe cast thy conquest to withstand:
Good cause to make the meaner people faine
With willing hartes to undergoe thie hand.
Thie throne, O God, doth never-falling stand;
Thie scepter ensigne of thie kinglie might,
To righteousnes is linckt with such a band.
That righteous hand still holds thie sceptre right.

Justice in love, in hate thou holdest wrong,
This makes that God who soe doth hate and love
Glad-making oile, that oile on thee hath flong,
Which thee exaltes thine equalls far above.
The fragrant riches of Sabean grove,
Mirrh, Aloes, Cassia, all thy robes doe smell:
When thou from ivorie pallace dost remove
Thie breathing odors all thie traine excell.

Daughters of kings among thie courtlie band,
By honoring thee, of thee doe honor hold:
On thie right side thie dearest queene doth stand,
Richlie araid in cloth of Ophir gold.
O, daughter, heare what now to thee is told;
Mark what thou hear'st, and what thou mark'st obey,
Forgett to keepe in memory enrold
The house, and folk, where first thou sawst the daie.

Soe in the king (thie king) a deere delight
Thie beautie shall both breed, and bred maintaine;
For onlie bee on thee hath lordlie right,
Him onlie thou with awe must entertaine.
Then unto thee both Tyrus shall be faine
Presents present, and richest nations moe,
With humble sute thie royall grace to gaine,
To thee shall doe such homage as they owe.

The queene that can a king her father call,
Doth only she in upper garments shine?
Nay, under clothes, and what shee weareth all,
Golde is the stuffe, the fashion art divine,
Brought to the king in robe imbrodred fine,
Her maides of honor shall on her attend
With such, to whome more favoure shall assigne
In nearer place their happie daies to spend.

Brought shall they bee with mirth and mariage joy,
And enter soe the pallace of the king:
Then lett noe grief thie minde, O Queene, anoy,
Nor parents left thie sad remembrance sting,
In stead of parents, children thou shalt bring,
Of partag'd earth the kings and lords to bee:
My self thie name in lasting verse will sing,
The world shall make no ende of thancks to thee.