And with thy presence oft vouchsafed to attribute
Fame and renown to us, for glorious martial deeds:
But now their ireful beams have chilled our hearts with cold.
Thou hast estranged thyself and deignest not our land:
Far off to others now, thy favour, honour breeds;
And high disdain doth cause thee shun our clime, I fear.
For hadst thou not been wroth, or that time near at hand;
Thou wouldst have heard the cry that woeful England made:
Eke Zealand's piteous plaints, and Holland's toren hair
Would haply have appeased thy divine angry mind.