LXXIII. S. A. Gorges

WHEN Tyme our styled yeare did end,

And chaunge beganne your raigne,

Then Time reft vs a soueraigne blisse,

Which chaunge repay’de with gaine.

Time now, by shortninge his owne time,

Hath chaung’d the aged yeare:

Yet in my long-borne zeale Time’s chaunge

Can make no chaunge appeare.

But many a blessed chaunge of times

Heauens graunt your time may see;

That Time chaunge not your royall race,

Till Time no more shalbe.
Most humble and loyall,

S. A. GORGES.

Of many now that sounde, with hope’s consort,

Your wisdome, bountie, and peace-bless’d raygne,

My skill is least, but of the most import,

Because not school’d by favours, gyfts, or gaine;

And that which more approves my truthfull layes,

To sweete my tunes I straine not flattrye’s strynge;

But holde that temper in your royall prayse

That longe I did before you were my kinge;

As one that vertue for it selfe regards,

And loues his kinge more than his king’s rewards.