Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.
Psalme CXLIVVI. Sir Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke
P
My rock in all allarms,
By whom my hands doe fight,
My fingers manage armes:
My grace, my guard, my fort,
On whom my safety staies:
To whom my hopes resort,
By whom my realm obaies.
Should’st tender soe his fare?
What hath his child to bow
Thy thoughts unto his care?
Whose neerest kinn is nought;
No image of whose daies
More lively can bee thought,
Then shade that never staies.
With ease to let thee down,
And make the stormes arise
From mountane’s fuming crown.
Lett follow flames from sky,
To back their stoutest stand:
Lett fast thy arrowes fly,
Dispersing thickest band.
And lift me from this flood:
Lett mee thy hand defend
From hand of forraine brood;
Whose mouth no mouth at all,
But forge of false entent,
Wherto their hand doth fall
As aptest instrument.
Will I exalt my voice:
Then shall, O God, with me
My ten-string’d lute rejoyce.
Rejoyce in him, I say,
Who royall right preserves,
And saves from sword’s decay
His David that him serves.
And lift mee from this flood:
Lett me thy hand defend
From hand of forrain brood;
Whose mouth no mouth at all,
But forge of false entent,
Whereto their hand doth fall
As aptest instrument.
As plants of timely spring,
Whom soone to fairest shew
Their happy growth doth bring.
As pillers both doe beare
And garnish kingly hall,
Our daughters, straight and faire,
Each howse embellish shall.
Yea, shall such fullness finde,
Though all from thence wee pull,
Yet more shall rest behinde:
The millions of encrease
Shall breake the wonted fold;
Yea, such the sheepy prease,
The streetes shall scantly hold.
Abroad no foes alarme;
At home to breake our rest,
No cry the voice of harme.
If blessed tearme I may,
On whom such blessings fall;
Then blessed, blessed they
Their God Jehova call.