A Lady With A Falcon On Her Fist To The Honourable My Cous

                    I.

This Queen of Prey (now prey to you),

  Fast to that pirch of ivory

In silver chaines and silken clue,

  Hath now made full thy victory:

                    II.

The swelling admirall of the dread

  Cold deepe, burnt in thy flames, oh faire!

Wast not enough, but thou must lead

  Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?

                    III.

Unarm'd of wings and scaly oare,

  Unhappy crawler on the land,

To what heav'n fly'st? div'st to what shoare,

  That her brave eyes do not command?

                    IV.

Ascend the chariot of the Sun

  From her bright pow'r to shelter thee:

Her captive (foole) outgases him;

  Ah, what lost wretches then are we!

                    V.

Now, proud usurpers on the right

  Of sacred beauty, heare your dombe;

Recant your sex, your mastry, might;

  Lower you cannot be or'ecome:

                    VI.

Repent, ye er'e nam'd he or head,

  For y' are in falcon's monarchy,

And in that just dominion bred,

  In which the nobler is the shee.