The doubt of future foes,[653]
Exiles my present ioy,
And wit me warnes to shun such snares
As threaten mine annoy.
For falshood now doth flow, 5
And subiect faith doth ebbe,[654]
Which would not be, if reason rul'd[655]
Or wisdome weu'd the webbe.[656]
But clowdes of iois vntried,[657]
Do cloake aspiring mindes, 10
Which turne to raine of late repent,[658]
By course of changed windes.
The toppe of hope supposed,
The roote of ruthe wil be,
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15
As shortly ye shall see.
Then dazeld eyes with pride,
Which great ambition blinds,
Shalbe vnseeld by worthy wights,
Whose foresight falshood finds. 20
The daughter of debate,[659]
That eke discord doth sowe,[660]
Shal reap no gaine where former rule[661]
Hath taught stil peace to growe.
No forreine bannisht wight 25
Shall ancre in this port,
Our realme it brookes no strangers force,[662]
Let them elsewhere resort.
Our rusty sworde with rest,
Shall first his edge employ, 30
To polle their toppes, that seeke such change
And gape for 'such like' ioy.[663]
†‡† I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's preserved by Puttenham (p. 197) "which (says he) our soveraigne lady wrote in defiance of fortune."