In all this space of thirteene hundred yeares,
Thy virgin state ambition ne’er could blot.
Now I prognosticate thy ruinous case;
When thou shalt from thy Adriatique seas,
View in this Ocean Isle thy painted face,
In these pure colours coyest eyes to please,
Then gazing in thy shadowes peerless eye,
Enamour’d like Narcissus thou shalt die.
J. ASHLEY (1599).