The Queen's Complaint

In ruck and quibble of courtfolk

This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene

With hands like derricks,

Looks fierce and black as rooks;

Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.

Her dainty acres he ramped through

And used her gentle doves with manners rude;

I do not know

What fury urged him slay

Her antelope who meant him naught but good.

She spoke most chiding in his ear

Till he some pity took upon her crying;

Of rich attire

He made her shoulders bare

And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.

A hundred heralds she sent out

To summon in her slight all doughty men

Whose force might fit

Shape of her sleep, her thought-

None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.

So she is come to this rare pass

Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall

And sings you thus :

'How sad, alas, it is

To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'