Oh glorious spirits, who after all your bands

See the smooth face of God, without a frown

Or strict commands;

Where ev'ry one is king, and hath his crown,

If not upon his head, yet in his hands:

Not out of envie or maliciousnesse

Do I forbear to crave your speciall aid:

I would addresse

My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid,

And Mother of my God, in my distresse.

Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,

The great restorative for all decay

In young and old;

Thou art the cabinet where the jewell lay:

Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold:

But now (alas!) I dare not; for our King,

Whom we do all joyntly adore and praise,

Bids no such thing:

And where his pleasure no injunction layes,

(’Tis your own case) ye never move a wing.

All worship is prerogative, and a flower

Of his rich crown, from whom lyes no appeal

At the last houre:

Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,

To make a posie for inferiour power.

Although then others court you, if ye know

What's done on earth, we shall not fare the worse,

Who do not so;

Since we are ever ready to disburse,

If any one our Masters hand can show.