ESTRILD

The plains my Lord garnished with Floras wealth And overspread with party coloured flowers, Do yield sweet contentation to my mind, The airy hills enclosed with shady groves, The groves replenished with sweet chirping birds, The birds resounding heavenly melody, Are equal to the groves of Thessaly, Where Phaebus with the learned Ladies nine, Delight themselves with music harmony, And from the moisture of the mountain tops, The silent springs dance down with murmuring streams, And water all y ground with crystal waves, The gentle blasts of Eurus modest wind, Moving the pittering leaves of Siluanes woods, Do equal it with Tempes paradise, And thus comforted all to one effect, Do make me think these are the happy Isles, Most fortunate, if Humber may them win. So perish they that are our enemies. So perish they that love not Humbers weal. And mighty Jove commander of that world, Protect my love from all false treacheries. What prince so ere adorned with golden Does sway the regal sceptler in his hand: And thinks no chance can ever throw him down, Or that his state shall everlasting stand, Let him behold poor Estrild in this plighted, The perfect platform of a troubled wight. Once was I guarded with manortiall bans, Compassed with princes of the noble blood, Now am I fallen into my foemans' hands, And with my death must pacify their mood. Oh life the harbour of calamities, Oh death the haven of all Misery's, I could compare my sorrows to thy woe, Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus, But that thou viewdst thy enemies overthrow. Nigh to the rock of high Caphareus, Thou sawest their death, and then departedst thence, I must abide the victor's insolence. The gods that pitied thy continual grief, Transformed thy corpse, and with thy corpse thy care, Poor Estrild lives despairing of relief, For friends in trouble are but few and rare. What said I few? I few or none at all, For cruel death made havoc of them all. Thrice happy they whose fortune was so good, To end their lives, and with their lives their woes, Thrice hapless I, whom fortune so withstood, That cruelly she gave me to my foes. O soldiers is there any misery, To be compared to Fortune's treachery. Better to die renowned for chastity, Then live with shame and endless infamy. What would the common sort report of me, If I forget my love, and cleave to thee? Hard is their fallen who from a golden crown Are cast into a sea of wretchedness. O kingdom object to all Misery's. How can he favour me that slew my spouse? But he was linked to me in marriage bound, And would you have me love his slaughterer? But Ladies must regard their honest name. No, but to be a strumpet to a king. But G endoline will undermine my state. Oh say me Page, tell me where is the king, Wherefore does he send for me to the court, Is it to die, is it to end my life, Say me sweet boy, tell me and do not feign? Then Estrild lift thy dazzled spirits up, And bless that blessed time, that day, that hour, That warlike Locrine first did favour thee. Peace to the king of Brittany my love, Peace to all those that love and favour him. Does Estrild fallen with such submission Before her servant king of Albion? Arise fair Lady, leave this lowly cheer, Lift up those looks that cherish L crines heart, That I may freely view that ros all face, Which so entangled hath my lovesick breast, Now to the court where we will court it out, And pass the night and day in Venus sports. Frolic brave peers, be joyful with your king. Alas my Lord, the horse will run amain When as the spur does gall him to the bone, Jealousy Locrine hath a wicked sting. Believe me Locrine but the girl is wise, And well would seem to make a vastall Nun, How finely frames she her oration. Break heart with sobs and grievous suspirs, Stream forth you tears from forth my watery eyes, Help me to mourn for warlike Locrines death, Pour down your tears you watery regions, For mighty Locrine is bereft of life. Oh ickle fortnne, Oh unstable world, What else are all things that this globe contains, But a confused chaos of mishaps? Wherein as in a glass we plainly see, That all our life is but as a Tragedy. Since mighty kings are subject to mishap I mighty kings are subject to mishap, Since martial Locrine is bereft of life, Shall Estrild live then after Locrines death? Shall love of life bar her from Locrines sword? Oh no, this sword that hath bereft his life, Shall now dep iue me of my fleeting soul: Strengthen these hands Oh mighty Jupiter, That I may end my woeful misery. Locrine I come, Locrine I follow thee. But Locrine was the causer of his death. Then lo br e Locrine, Estrild yields to thee, And by the gods whom thou dost invocate, By the dead ghost of thy deceased sire, By thy right hand and by thy burning love, Take pity on poor Estrilds wretched thrall.