He that so well could sing the fatall strife Between the royall Roses White and Red, That prais'd so oft Eliza in her life, His Muse seemes now to dye, as she is dead: Thou sweetest song-man of all English swaines, Awake for shame, honour ensues thy paines....
No lesse do thou (sweet Coridon) The Theame exceedeth Edwards Isabel. Forget her not in Poly-Albion; Make some amends, I know thou lovdst her well. Thinke twas a fault to have thy Verses seene Praising the King, ere they had mournd the Queen.
