A Preface to the Queen’s maidens of honour.

Flowers of prime, pearls couched all in gold,

Light of our days that glad the fainting hearts

Of them that shall your shining gleams behold,

Salve of each sore, recur of inward smarts,

In whom virtue and beauty strives so,

As neither yields, behold here for your gain

Gismond’s unlucky love, her fault, her woe

And death, at last her cruel father slain

Through his mishap, and though you do not see,

Yet read and rue their woeful tragedy.

So, Jove, as your high virtues done deserve,

Grant you such feres as may your virtues serve

With like virtues, and blissful Venus send

Unto your happy loves a happy end.

Another to the same.

Gismond, that whilom lived her father’s joy

And died his death, now dead, doth as she may

By us pray you to pity her annoy.

And to requite the same, doth humbly pray,

Heavens to forfend your loves from like decay.

The faithful Earl doth also make request,

Wishing those worthy knights whom you embrace,

The constant truth that lodged in his breast.

His hearty love, not his unhappy case,

Befall to such as triumph in your grace.

The King prays pardon of his cruel haste,

And for amends, desires it may suffice,

That by his blood he warns all the rest

Of fond fathers that they in kinder wise,

Entreat the jewels where their comfort lies.

We, as their messengers, beseech you all

On their behalves to pity all their smarts,

And for ourselves, although the worth be small,

We pray you to accept our humble hearts,

Avowed to serve with prayer and with praise

Your Honours, all unworthy other ways.