Queen Elizabeth I

Oh,
Fortune
how thy restlesse wavering
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt

Never think you fortune can bear the
Where virtue's force can cause her to obey

No crooked leg, no bleared eye,
No part deformed out of kind,
Nor yet so ugly half can
As is the inward suspicious mind

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate

The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web

Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit,
Whose witness this present prison
Could bear, where once was joy's loan quit

Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be,
Quoth Elizabeth prisoner