A Ballad on Queen Elizabeth; to the Tune of Sallengers Round
I tell you all both great and small,
And I tell you it truely,
That we have a very great cause,
Both to lament and crie,
Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
Oh fie on cruell death;
For he hath taken away from us
Our Queen Elizabeth.
He might have taken other folk,
That better might have been mist,
And let our gratious Queen alone,
That lov’d not a Popish Priest.
She rul’d this Land alone of her self,
And was beholding to no man.
She bare the waight of all affaires,
And yet she was but a woman.
A woman said I? nay that is more
Nor any man can tell,
So chaste she was, so pure she was,
That no man knew it well.
For whilst that she liv’d till cruel death
Exposed her to all.
Wherefore I say lament, lament,
Lament both great and small.
She never did any wicked thing,
Might make her conscience prick her,
And scorn’d for to submit her self to him
That calls himself Christ’s Vicker:
But rather chose couragiously
To fight under Christ’s Banner,
Gainst Turk and Pope, I and King of Spain,
And all that durst withstand her.
She was as Chaste and Beautifull,
And Faire as ere was any;
And had from forain Countreys sent
Her Suters very many.
Though Mounsieur came himself from France,
A purpose for to woe her,
Yet still she liv’d and dy’d a Maid,
Doe what they could unto her.
And if that I had Argus eyes,
They were too few to weep,
For our sweet Queen Elizabeth,
Who now doth lye asleep:
Asleep I say she now doth lye,
Untill the day of Doome:
But then shall awake unto the disgrace
Of the proud Pope of Rome.