A Book of English Literature

With that I saw two swannes of goodly So fresh they seem'd as day,

Great Englands glory and the worlds wide wonder,

Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder,

And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare.

Yeat did by signes his glad affection show, Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie, Making his streame run slow.

That fillest England with thy triumphes fame,

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I read it in thy looks: thy languished grace

To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.

Some lucky wits impute it but to chance;

Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell Others, because of both sides I do take

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