XI. ANNA BULLEN, an elegiac Ballad. Now first printed. IGH fhee fat in regal ftate, H1 Lovelye Anna Englande's queene (Thoughtleffe that approaching fate, Coulde fo fhortelye change the scene). Deckte in robes of royaltye, Shee appear'de fome form divine; Glorious in that forme to fee, Beautye's throne and virtue's fhrine. Lillyes fo tranfcendent fayre, Roles of the Tyrian dye, Coulde not with her hande compare, Rounde her knightes and nobles bow'de, Smyl'd on all, and frown'de on none. Pale Palefac'de miferye, griefe and woe, To her feete did oft repayre; Bounteous gifts fhe did beftowe, Generous queene as good as fayre. Pitye form'de her fofte and milde, Manye a wretche, with joy fulle breathe, Superftition long had feign'de, Longe had rear'd her haggard heade; When she hearde that Anna reign'de, Scar'de, the trembled, curs'd, and fledde. Calumnye, with artful leere, Strove to tainte her mayden fame; Pryde was pleas'd the tale to heare, Envye gladlye woulde proclayme. But to quelle that darke furmize, Truthe the envyous tale denyes, But But pale envye, rankling fore, Came difguis'de in friendefhip's name; Malice in her breaste the bore, Bente to bringe this queene to fhame. Hapleffe Rochford, thee their preye Sweete innocence, and fhalle thy charmes, Yes, hapless Anna! thou must falle: Nor thy infante's eloquence. -Thou that waft a friende to all, Haft noe friende to pleade for thee; Friendleffe (tho an empreffe) falle, Harke yon diftante hollowe groane Harke yon woefraughtę murmurs faynte→→ Loe, the hellishe deede is done- Farewelle, Anna, queene, and faynte! Be Be the deede for ever mourn'de, Pale that face whose beautye charm'de, Mangled is that neck and breafte, Charmes, whofe luftre brighte hath fhone, Nowe no more shall those brighte ́eyes 1 But, fweete queene, thou ftille fhalt reigne On a brighter throne above, Where no fiend thy peace fhall ftayne, Nor enfnare thy monarch's love. E'en E'en on earthe thy fame fhall bloome And thy grave a hallow'd shrine, Pietye (neglected fayre !) Oft with griefe shall wander neare; And, in pangs of fad defpaire, On the greene turfe drop a teare. There shall come the numerous thronge Tale to telle, as fweete as longe, Of the goode workes thou'ft atchiev'de. Ever fhall thy foes be fcorn'd, And, with hearte-felte teares and fighes, Tyrante Henrye, bloodye kyng, VOL. IV. L When |