O poore distracted world, partly a flaue
To Pagans sinnefull rage, partly obscur' d
With ignorance of all the meanes that saue,
And eu' n those parts of thee that liue assur' d
Of heau' nly grace : Oh how they are deuided
With doubts late by a Kingly penne decided ?
O happy world, if what the Sire begunne
Had beene clos' d vp by his religious Sonne.
Mourne all you soules opprest vnder yoake
Of Christian-hating Thrace; neuer appear' d
More likelyhood to haue that blacke league broke,
For such a heauenly prince might well be fear' d
Of earthly fiends : Oh how is Zeale inflamed
With power, when truth wanting defence is shamed
O princely soule rest thou in peace, while wee
In thine expect the hopes were ripe in thee.
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer, 2003