[♦] Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
[♦] Which here we waken to our country’s good,
[♦] This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
[♦] Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
[♦] Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
[♦] And almost shoulder’d in the swallowing gulf
[♦] Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
[♦] Which to recure, we heartily solicit
[♦] Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land;