Most happy King and Emperour of the earth,
Image of Honor and Nobilitie.
For whome the Powers divine have made the world,
And on whose throne the holy Graces sit.
In whose sweete person is compriz'd the Sum
Of natures Skill and heavenly majestic.
Pittie our plightes, O pitie poore Damascus:
Pitie olde age, within whose silver haires
Honor and reverence evermore have raign'd,
Pitie the mariage bed, where many a Lord
In prime and glorie of his loving joy,
Embraceth now with teares of ruth and blood,
The jealous bodie of his fearfull wife,
Whose cheekes and hearts so punisht with conceit,
To thinke thy puisant never staied arme
Will part their bodies, and prevent their soules
From heavens of comfort, yet their age might beare,
Now waxe all pale and withered to the death,
As well for griefe our ruthlesse Governour
Have thus refusde the mercie of thy hand,
(Whose scepter Angels kisse, and Furies dread)
As for their liberties, their loves or lives.
O then for these, and such as we our selves,
For us, for infants, and for all our bloods,
That never nourisht thought against thy rule,
Pitie, O pitie, (sacred Emperour)
The prostrate service of this wretched towne.
And take in signe thereof this gilded wreath,
Whereto ech man of rule hath given his hand,
And wisht as worthy subjects happy meanes,
To be investers of thy royall browes,
Even with the true Egyptian Diadem.
