QUEENS

For pities sake and true gentilities, Hear, and respect me. We are 3. Queens, whose Sovereigns fell before The wrath of cruel Creon; who endured The Beaks of Ravens, Talents of the Knights, And pecks of Crows, in the fowl fields of The He will not suffer us to burn their bones, To urn their ashes, nor to take the off nce Of mortal loathsomeness from the blessed eye Of holy Ph bus, but infects the winds With stench of our slain Lords. Oh pity Duke, Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared Sword That does good turns to'th world; give us the Bones Of our dead Kings, that we may Chapel them; And of thy boundless goodness take some note That for our crowned heads we have no roof, Save this which is the Lyons, and the Bears, And vault to every thing. Oh This Celebration Will long last, and be more costly then, Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame Knowles in the ear, o'th world: what you do quickly, Is not done rashly; your first thought is more. Then others laboured meditance: your premeditating More then their actions: But o love, your actions Soon as they moves as Asprayes do the fish, Subdue before they touch, think, deer Duke think What beds our slain Kings have. But our Lords Lie b string before the visitating Sun, And were good Kings, when living. And that work presents it self to'th doing: Now 'twill take form, the heats are gone to morrow. Then, booteles toil must recompense it self, With it's own sweat; Now he's secure, Not dreams, we stand before your puislance Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes To make petition clear. Dowagers, take hands Let us be Widow's to our woe S, delay Commends us to a famishing hope. The more proclaiming Our suit shall be neglected, when her Arms Able to lock Jove from a Synod, shall By warranting Moonlight corslet thee, o when Her twining Cherries shall their sweetness fallen Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think Of rotten Kings or blubbered Queens, what care For what thou feelest not? what thou feelest being able To make Mars spurn his Drom. Oh if thou couc But one night with her, every hour in't will Take of thee for a hundred, and Thou shalt remember nothing more, then what That Banquet bids thee too. Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o'th world. To thee no star be dark. Yours this way: Heavenslend A thousand differing ways, to one sure end. For your Mother's sake. And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, Hear and respect me, Honoured Hypolita Most dreaded Amazonian, that ha'st slain The Sith-tuskd-Bore; that with thy Arm as strong As it is white, wast near to make the male To thy Sex captive; but that this thy Lord Born to uphold Creation, in that honour First nature stilde it in, shrunk thee into The bound thou wast overflowing; at once subduing Thy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse That equally canst poize sternness with pity, Whom now I know hast much more power on him Then ever he had on thee, who owest his strength And his, Love too: who is a Servant for The Tenor of the Speech. Dear Glass of Ladies Bid him that we whom flaming war does scorch, Under the shadow of his Sword, may cool us: Require him he advance it over our heads; Speak't in a woman's key: Like such a woman As any of us three; weep ere you fail; lend us a knee; But touch the ground for us no longer time Then a Doves motion, when the head's plucked off: Tell him if he i'th blood cizd field, lay swollen Showing the Sun his Teeth; g inning at the Moon What you would do. What griefs our beds That our deer Lords have none. Now you may take him, Drunk with his victory. We come unseasonably: But when could grief Cull forth as unpanged judgement can, fittest time For best solicitation. And earnest a Deity equal with Mars, Both heaven and earth Friend thee for ever. And this to yours. Now for the love of him whom love hath marked The honour of your Bed, and for the sake Of clear virginity, be Advocate For us, and our distresses: This good deed Shall raze you out o'th Book of Trespasses All you are set down there. Oh my petition was kneel to Emilia. Set down in ice, which by hight grief uncandied Melts into drops, so sorrow wanting form Is pressed with deeper matter. Oh woe, You cannot read it there; there through my tears, Like wrinkled peobles in a glass stream You may behold they (Lady, Lady, alack) He that will all the Treasure know o'th earth Must know the Centre too; he that will fish For my least min owe, let him led his line To catch one at my heart. Oh pardon me Extremity that sharpens sundry wits Makes me a Fool. None fit for'th dead: Those that with Cords, Knives, drams precipitance, Weary of this world's light, have to themselves Been death's most horrid Agents, human grace Affords them dust and shadow. And his Army full Of Bred, and sloth. If not above him, for Thou being but mortal make affections bend To Godlike honours; they themselves some say Groan under such a Mastery. All the good that may Be wished upon thy head, I cry Amen too't. This funeral path, brings to your households grave: Joy cease on you again: peace sleep with him. This world's a City full of straying Streets, And Death's the market place, where each one meets. Oh I hope some God, Some God hath put his mercy in your manhood Whereto heel infuse pour, and press you forth Our undertaker.