9 Prothalamion. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, Did make to quake and feare : Faire branch of Honor, flower of Cheualrie, That filleft England with thy triumphes fame, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That through thy proweffe and victorious armes, To ages following, Vpon the Brydale day, which is not long : Sweete Themmes runne foftly till I end my Song. 444 |