On the Death of Elizabeth, Queen of Henry VIIÔÇô, and Mother of Henry VIII

Here lith the fresshe flowr of Plantagenet,
Here lith the white rose in the rede sete.
Here lith the nobull quen Elyzabeth,
Here lith the princes departid by deth.
Here lith blode of owr contray royall,
Here lith fame of Ynglond immortall.
Here lith of Edward the IIIIth a picture,
Here lith his dowghter and perle pure.
Here lith the wyff of Harry owr trew kyng,
Here lith the hart the joy and the gold rynge.
Here lith the lady so lyberall and gracius,
Here lith the pleasure of thy hows.
Here lith very love of man and child,
Here lith insampull owre myndez to bild.
Here lith all bewte of lyvyng a myrrour,
Here lith all vertu good maner and honour.
God grant her now hevyn to encrese,
And owr kyn Harry long lyff and pease.

Here lith the fresshe flowr of Plantagenet,
Here lith the white rose in the rede sete.
Here lith the nobull quen Elyzabeth,
Here lith the princes departid by deth.
Here lith blode of owr contray royall,
Here lith fame of Ynglond immortall.
Here lith of Edward the IIIIth a picture,
Here lith his dowghter and perle pure.
Here lith the wyff of Harry owr trew kyng,
Here lith the hart the joy and the gold rynge.
Here lith the lady so lyberall and gracius,
Here lith the pleasure of thy hows.
Here lith very love of man and child,
Here lith insampull owre myndez to bild.
Here lith all bewte of lyvyng a myrrour,
Here lith all vertu good maner and honour.
God grant her now hevyn to encrese,
And owr kyn Harry long lyff and pease.
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