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.
But clouds of joys untried
Do cloak aspiring minds
Which turn to rain of late repent
By changèd course of winds.
The top of hope supposed
The root upreared shall be
And fruitless all their grafted guile,
As shortly ye shall see.
The dazzled eyes with pride,
Which great ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights
Whose foresight falsehood finds.
The daughter of debate
That discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former rule
Still peace hath taught to know.
No foreign banished wight
Shall anchor in this port:
Our realm brooks not seditious sects--
Let them elsewhere resort.
My rusty sword through rest
Shall first his edge employ
To poll their tops that seek such change
Or gape for future joy.
