Queen of Bohemia—Sir H. Wootton

On Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.[10]
By Sir Henry Wootton.

You meaner beauties of the night
That weaklie satisfie our eies,
More by your number than your lighte,
Like common people of the skies,
What are yee, when the moone doth rise?
Ye violettes that first appeare,
Your pride in purple garments showne,
Takeing possession of the yeere
As if the spring were all your owne,
What are you when the rose is blowne?
Ye glorious trifles of the East,
Whose lustres estimations raise,
Pearles, rubies, saphires and the rest,
Of precious caskets, what’s your praise
When the diamond shows his rayes?

Ye warblinge chanters of the wood,
That fill the eares with nature’s laies,
Thinkinge your passions understood
By weaker accents, what’s your praise
When Philomell her voice doth raise?
Soe when my princesse shall bee seene,
In sweetness of her lookes and mynde,
By vertue first, then choice a queene,
Tell mee if shee were not design’d
The eclipsinge glorie of her kynde?
The rose, the violettes, the whole springe,
For sweetness to her breath must runne;
The diamond’s darken’d in the ringe;
If shee appeare the moon’s undonne,
As with the presence of the sunne.

[10] This amiable daughter of Charles I. supported her unhappy situation with great dignity, and showed, amidst the most distressing poverty, an illustrious example of magnanimity. In bequeathing her portrait to her nephew, Sir Henry Wootton thus expresses himself:

“I leave to the most hopeful prince, the picture of the elected and crowned Queen of Bohemia, his aunt, of clear and resplendent virtues through the clouds of her fortune.”

Sir Henry Wootton died Dec. 1639, aged seventy-two. He retained the Provostship of Eton to his death, and was buried in the chapel of the college.