To the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty
Renowned empress, and Great Britain's queen,
Most gracious mother of succeeding kings;
Vouchsafe to view that which is seldom seen,
A woman's writing of divinest things:
Read it fair queen, though it defective be,
Your excellence can grace both it and me.
...
Look in this mirror of a worthy mind,
Where some of your fair virtues will appear;
Though all it is impossible to find,
Unless my glass were crystal, or yet more clear:
Which is dim steel, yet full of spotless truth,
And for one look from your fair eyes it su'th.
Here may your sacred majesty behold
That mighty monarch both of heaven and earth,
He that all nations of the world controlled,
Yet took our flesh in base and meanest berth;
Whose days were spent in poverty and sorrow,
And yet all kings their wealth from him do borrow.
For he is crown and crowner of all kings,
The hopeful haven of the meaner sort,
It's he that all our joyful tidings brings
Of happy reign within his royal court:
It's he that in extremity can give
Comfort to them that have no time to live.
And since my wealth within his region stands,
And that his cross my chiefest comfort is,
Yea in his kingdom only rests my lands,
Of honor there I hope I shall not miss:
Though I on earth do live unfortunate,
Yet there I may attain a better state.
In the meantime, accept, most gracious queen
This holy work virtue presents to you
In poor apparel, shaming to be seen,
Or once t'appear in your judicial view:
But that fair virtue, though in mean attire,
All prince of the world do most desire.
...
And she that is the pattern of all beauty,
The very model of your majesty,
Whose rarest parts enforceth love and duty,
The perfect pattern of all piety:
O let my book by her fair eyes be blessed,
In whose pure thoughts all innocency rests.
Then shall I think my glass a glorious sky,
When two such glitt'ring suns at once appear;
The one replete with sovereign majesty,
Both shining brighter than the clearest clear:
And both reflecting comfort to my spirits,
To find their grace so much above my merits.
Whose untuned voice the doleful notes doth sing
Of sad affliction in a humble strain;
Much like unto a bird that wants a wing,
And cannot fly, but warbles forth her pain:
Or he that barred from the sun's bright light,
Wanting day's comfort, doth commend the night.
...
My weak distempered brain and feeble spirits,
Which all unlearned have adventured this
To write of Christ and of his sacred merits,
Desiring that this book her hands my kiss:
And though I be unworthy of that grace,
Yet let her blessed thoughts this book embrace.
And pardon me (fair queen) though I presume,
To do that which so many better can;
Not that I learning to myself assume,
Or that I would compare with any man:
But as they are scholars, and by art do write,
So nature yields my soul a sad delight.
So peerless princess humbly I desire,
That your great wisdom would vouchsafe t'omit
All faults; and pardon if my spirits retire,
Leaving to aim at what they cannot hit:
To write your worth, which no pen can express,
Were but t'eclipse your fame, and make it less.