The doubt of
future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such
snares as threaten mine annoy;
For
falsehood now doth flow, and
subjects' faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.
But
clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds,
Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.
The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,
And fruitless all their grafted
guile, as shortly ye shall see.
The dazzled eyes with pride, which great
ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose
foresight falsehood finds.
The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former
rule still peace hath taught to know.
No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port;
Our realm brooks not
seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.
My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ
To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.
- Queen Elizabeth I