Mens due desertes ech Reader may recite,
For men of men doo make a goodly show,
But womens workes can neuer come to light,
No mortall man their famous factes may know:
No writer wyll a litle time bestowe,
The worthy workes of women to repeate,
Though their renowme and due deserts be great.

For I by byrth to Coel Daughter deare,
King Lucy was my good Grandmothers sonne,
My Father dead, I rulde his kyngdome heere,
And afterwarde, the Worlde so wide I wonne.
I Empresse was of all vnder the Sunne,
I liued long, I dyde with perfect blisse,
Yet writers will repeate no worde of this.

But now at last I haue obtayned leaue,
My spotlesse life to paynt in perfect white:
Though writers would al honour from me reaue,
Of al renowne they would depriue me quite,
Yet true report my deedes shal burnishe bright,
And rubbe the rust which did me much disgrace,
And set my name in her deserued place.

From Roman rule who Brittayne did redeme?
Who planted first Gods woorde in Brittayne land?
Who did so much virginitie esteme?
Who did the force of forrayne foes withstand?
Who al the world subdude without a band
Of Martial men? who did these noble actes?
I Hellina, haue done these famous factes.

And now haue here the storye of my state:
The Brittayne Queene inheritage me crownde,
Euen then when Romans had so great debate
Amongst them selues for Caracallas wounde,
An Emperour, who highly was renownde
As then at Rome, whose death vndoutedly,
Diminishte much the Roman Emperie.

The Romans then were storde with ciuile strife,
And many Realmes against them did rebell,
There trouble turnd me to a quiet life,
My common weale did prosper passing well,
When al the worlde agreed like Deuils in hel,
Then I and myne becalmde from Hatreds blast:
In happy Hauen we harboured were at last.

Then I a mayd of tender youthful yeares,
Reporte did say, of beutie fresh and fayre,
Refusde the sute of many noble Peeres,
Which dayly did vnto my court repayre.
What though there were vnto my Crowne no heyre?
Yet I who did regard my Comons good,
Refusde to linke my selfe with forrayne blood.

On forrayne Costes, on Kingdomes to incroche,
With wrath of wrackful warres I did despise,
And fearing aye the ruth of rude reproche,
With carking care I dayly did deuise,
How I with peace myght make my kingdome rise,
And how by lawe of God and man, I might
Giue Caesar his, and vnto God his right.

No God of heauen, no Christ my people knewe:
Wherefore to Rome for learned men I sent,
Kinge Lucies lawes decayde I did renewe,
Then preaching made my people so repent
There former faultes, that all incontinent
Were baptized, and they within a space,
The fayth of Christ so firmly did imbrace,

That nothing seemed currant in their sight,
But that which holye writers would alowe:
And that they would imbrace with all their might,
To shed their bloud, the same for to avowe.
They did not feare, at Verolane euen nowe,
Amidst the force of fiery flashing flame.
Albon the Protomartyr proude the same.

As careful marchaunt men do much reioyce,
When from those Iles Molocchi, they haue brought
There frayghted shippes, for then they haue great choyce
Of Marchandize, which trafficke long hath sought
To finde the ware which trial true hath taught
Wyl get moste gayne, which beeing got, they giue
And cast there care, how they thereby may liue:

So I, whom both Sir Neptunes surging Seas,
And Eoles windes, euen God him selfe aboue
Did fauoure much, my labouring minde to please,
Geuing those thinges were best for my behoue,
Gods woorde I mene, which al my men did loue.
The Pearles which Christ commaunded to be bought,
Muste here be found, and no where els be sought.

Then they and I made haste, post hast, to leade
Our sinful liues as Scripture did alowe.
We knowing God, him loude with feare and dread,
Deuotion made vs crouche, and creepe, and bowe
Our hartes, our heades, we sauage were but nowe,
Yet by and by such was the good successe,
In fiery flames the truth we did professe.

Then flittinge Fame the truth to testifie,
Against my wyl, at Rome made such reporte,
That Constantinus thence dyd hether hye,
And being come vnto my Brittayne Court,
With louers lookes hee striude to scale the Fort
Of my goodwyll: but when it woulde not bee,
He sighing, thus addrest his talk to mee:

O Queene quoth he, thy deedes deserue great fame,
The goodly giftes that God hath geuen to thee
Be such, as I can not thee greatly blame,
Though thou without desert disdaynest me,
Who for thy sake doth lothe al crueltie.
But for thy loue, with Mars his cruel knife,
I could commaund thy Realme, and reaue thy life.

But (out alas) whilst breath doth lend me life,
My hart shal hate to thrall thy happy state,
What though thou dost refuse to be my wyfe,
Thy hatred tho, shal neuer cause me hate:
But whylste I liue, I wyl thee loue, let Fate
And Fortune fell poure on me al their spight,
To die for thee shal greatly me delight.

Then I replide, O Duke, without desert
Thou doste me loue a little Ilandes Queene,
I know thou to the Emperour heyre art,
Thy valiaunt actes I diuers wayes haue seene,
I like thy deedes, most noble which haue bene,
And thee I loue: yet priuate pleasures luste
May neuer make me throwe my Realme to duste,

If thou (quothe he) wylte dayne my Queene to be,
Thy Bryttaynes shal to Rome no tribute yeilde,
You if you please, to Rome may go with me,
Your myghtie mate the world so wide may wielde,
Or if you please, I here wyth you wyl bylde
My byding place, and in this littell lande,
I wyl remayne yours, at your commaund.

His comely corps, his friendly promise plight,
His famous actes, his Noble royall race,
Some other thinges which here I could recite,
The Romans hart within my brest dyd place.
And when my wit had wayed well the case,
Then for the chiefe of all my Realme I sent,
And thus I spake to know the whole intent.

My louing Lordes, and you my subiects, see
This Roman heyre, whom I indeede do loue,
He will restore your ancient lybertie,
If I wyll bende my hest to his behoue:
Which benifites they chiefely do mee moue,
To loue at last, a man by whom you may,
Receaue a Shielde to keepe you from decay.

Perhaps you think I loue, because I see
His comely corps, and seemely sanguine face.
You be deceaude, no outward brauery,
No personage, no gallant courtly grace.
What though hee bee by birth of Royall race?
I recke it not, but this I do regarde,
My common weale by him may bee preserude.

For if hee wyll from tribute set you free,
And ende the worke which I haue well begonne,
That Christes Gospell preached styll may bee,
God may by hym sende vnto me a sonne,
To you a King: what wealth then haue you wonne?
What great renowme? what honour wyll insue?
Speake you your mindes, these thinges me think, be true.

O Queene quoth they, the Lorde preserue thy grace:
Do thou the thinge that semes to thee the best,
We do alowe the matche in euery case:
If by that meanes we may haue quiet rest,
With what great good shal this our Realme be blest?
Do thou therefore O noble Queene, we pray,
The thing which best may keepe vs from decay.

The Roman Duke he nothing would denye,
But graunted more then I could aske or craue,
So that there was proclaymed by and by,
A famous feast, a banquet passing braue.
There to the Duke the Britayne Crowne I gaue,
With sacred spousall ryghtes, as man and wyfe
We wedded, liude in loue, for terme of lyfe.

And whylste we ment to rule this little Ile,
A greater good vnlooked for befel,
Death did destroy his Syre with hateful hande:
For which we both at Rome must nowe go dwel,
And so we did: thinges prospered passyng wel,
My Feere was made the Emperour Lorde and King
Of al: and I the Queene of euery thing.

His myghtie Mace did rule the Monarchie,
My wyt did rule (some wryters say) his Mace,
And to increase with ioye our merye glye,
I brought him forth a babe of Royal race,
The boy he had an amiable face.
O Rome thou maiste reioyce, for this was he,
Which did at Rome erect Diuinitie.

Whilste thus in blesse I did at Rome remayne,
On Britaine stil my mind her care did cast,
For which I causde my husband to ordayne,
That euermore those ancient Lawes should last,
Which heretofore amongst them there I past,
And that to Rome no Brittayne borne, for aye,
Shoulde taxe, or toll, or tenth, or tribute pay.

Though there at Rome an Empresse life I led,
And had at hand what I could wishe or craue,
Yet stil me thought I was not wel bestead,
Because I was so farre from Brittayne braue.
Which when my louing Lorde did once perceiue,
He set a stay in al the Emperye,
To Brittayne then he did returne with me.

We raygnde of yeares thrice seuen with good successe,
Then Dolor and Debilitie did driue
My louing Lord with faynting feeblenesse,
For vitall life with braying breath to striue:
He felt, howe death of life would him depriue,
He calde his Lordes, his childe, and me his wife,
And thus he spake, euen as he left his life:

The haughtye Pynes of loftye Libanus,
From earth, to earth, in tracte of time returne:
So I whose spreading prayse were merueilous,
Must now returne my fleshe to filthy slime,
On Fortunes wheele I may no longer clime.
Therefore my Lordes, although my glasse be runne,
Yet take remorse on Constantine my sonne.

My Monarche, Court, my Kingdomes all,
(O stately Rome) farewell to them, and thee,
Farewell my Lordes, which see my finall fall,
Farewell my Childe, my Wyfe, more deare to mee
Then all the world, we must depart I see:
And must we needes depart? O Fortune fye,
We must depart, adue, farewell, I dye.

Wherewith he sighte and senslesse dyd remayne,
Then I his death as women doo, dyd wayle:
But when I viewd, that weeping was but vayne,
I was content to beare that bitter bale,
As one who founde no meanes for her auayle.
His corps at Yorke in Princely Tombe I layde.
When Funerall sacred solemne rights were payde,

And when report his death about had blowne,
Maxentius then the triple Crowne to weare,
Dyd challenge all the Empire as his owne,
And for a time that mighty Mace dyd beare:
Which when my Sonne, my Constantine dyd heare,
The youthfull Lad, indeuourd by and by,
To Claime his right by Mars his crueltie.

I then his tender youthfull yeares to guyde,
Went with my sonne to see his good successe,
He being Campt by fruitfull Tybers side,
To spoyle his foe he dyd hymselfe addresse,
Hee knew that God dyd geue all happinesse.
Therefore to God, euen then the Youth did pray,
With mightie hande to keepe hym from decay.

Beholde how God doth godly men defend,
And marke how he doth beate Vsurpers downe.
Maxentius nowe he al his force dothe bende,
For to defend his Diademe and Crowne.
But frowarde Fate vpon the Prince did frowne:
For why his men were scattered euery where,
In Tyber he did drowne himselfe for feare.

To Rome then we and all our host did hie,
The Romans they with ioy did vs receiue,
To Constantine they gaue the Emperie,
But he of them most earnestly did craue,
That I the rule of al the worlde myght haue,
It is (quoth he) my mothers ryght to rayne.
Til dreadful death hath shred her twyst in twayne.

I graunt my sonne, the Monarchie is myne,
For at his death thy father gaue it me
For terme of life: but let it nowe be thine,
I aged must goe pay the earth her fee,
I am content to liue with lesse degree.
O louing sonne geue eare vnto my hest,
I wyl not rule, that charge for thee is best.

And when he myght not rule his mothers minde,
Agaynst his wyll he wylling did assent,
That al should be as I had then assignde,
To rule the worlde, he greued was content.
And whilste that there my happie dayes I spent,
Reioycing much to see my sonnes successe,
I dyde, and had a heauenly happinesse.

Thrice happye I who ranne this Royal race,
And in the ende my wished Goale did get:
For by my meanes al people did imbrace
The fayth of Christ, the orders I did set
They were obayd, with ioy which made me iet.
Euen in this blesse a better blesse befel,
I dyde, and nowe my soule in heauen doth dwel.

So now you see the happye hap I had,
Learne then thereby to do as I haue done,
To prayse gods name let euery Prince be glad,
To persecute the truth let al men shunne,
By vertuous wayes great honor maye be wonne,
But he who doth to vices vile incline,
May be comparde vnto a filthie swine.

Who doth not loue the playne nor pleasant way,
He can not feare to sleepe amidst the greene,
But in the mire he doth delyght to lay:
So Princes such as vile and vicious beene,
Do tumble aye amidst a sinke of sinne,
Whose names on earth, whose soules in hel remayne
In infamye, the other pincht with payne.

Let them that seeke for euerlasting fame,
Tread in the steppes that I before haue trod,
And he who would avoyd reprochful shame,
And flee the smart of Plutoes ruthful rod,
Let him not cease to learne the law of God,
Which onely lawe mans stumbling steppes doth guyde:
Who walkes therein, his feete can neuer slide.