Classic Poem

No, none ore me shall so insult or vaunt,
Whome slaue nor captiue they shall neuer see,
Though conquerd and orecome my selfe I graunt,
In all things else, yet of my liberty
None other liuing shall commander be;
Which I esteeme and prize at higher rate,
Then whatsoeuer riches, wealth, or state.

Shall I who in the highest chiefe degree
Of Fortunes fauour lately shin'd in grace,
Abase my selfe so low a slaue to be,
To those who ruin'd me and all my race?
No, no such thought nor motion shall haue place,
Though all the euils on earth should me oppresse,
I liu'd a Queene, and I must die no lesse.

Let Rome triumph to heare of my distresse,
But neuer glorie to behold my wo:
Scipio my wracke in words may well expresse,
But me a captiue shall he neuer show:
Go who so list, I neuer meane to go
One foote, to grace his victories, I vow,
With his designes beeing so acquainted now.

Haue not mine eyes as yet beheld alasse,
To many wofull obiects, but of force
They must behold and view their owne disgrace,
To grace the breeders triumph which is worse:
Is there no other pitty nor remorse?
My crown's berest, what rests there more to doe,
Must they bereaue me of my honour to?

The gods and nature to the world did giue mee,
Most free by birth, and so I'ue liu'd as yet,
And of my birth-right would they now bereaue me,
To curbe me with captiuities hard bit?
I minde not so from Natures gift to flit.
My freedomes lease till death doth not expire,
Which I to forfit neuer shall desire.

Thrice happy yee that spent your blessed breaths
In the defence of country liberty,
Who by your glorious and renouned deaths,
Express'd your mindes great magnanimity:
And left sad tokens to the enemy
Of your great valour and couragious spirits,
While each his death with his foes death acquits.

As most kinde children to your nature soile,
In her defence yee spent your deerest bloud,
Your eyes ne'r vewing the regratefull spoile
Heauens hauing your attempts and force withstood,
Which the proude fortune-follow'd multitude,
Of your fierce foes tooke on your haplesse ayres,
Being plagued both in this your losse, and theirs.

Of which none iustlier may lament then I,
The wofull type of fortunes fickle grace,
Who with those haplesse eyes (allase) did spie,
My noble father slaine before my face;
And by his side the most part of our race:
My husband conquer'd and captiu'd also,
In whose each griefe I felt a seueral woe.

But fortune neuer wearied of change,
Vnconstant goddesse which affects nought more,
As if alone on mee she ment reuenge,
While death and horror stood my eyes before,
Did then present me with a shew of glore,
As if repenting of her former wrong,
And yet meant greater iniuries ere long.

Who would haue thought amidst a world of woes,
While nothing but destruction did appeere,
All being in power of the insulting foes,
Life, liberty, or what I held most deere:
Teares in my eyes, my heart possest with feare,
Looking for nothing but a shamefull death,
That fortune then had mitigate her wrath?