“And where is that same great seven-headded beast,
That made all nations vassals of her pride,
To fall before her feete at her beheast,
And in the necke of all the world did ride? 
Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe hide? 75
With her own weight downe pressed now shee lies,
And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies.

“O Rome, thy ruine I lament and rue,
And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe,
That whilom was, whilst heavens with equall vewe 80
Deignd to behold me and their gifts bestowe,
The picture of thy pride in pompous shew: 
And of the whole world as thou wast the empresse,
So I of this small Northerne world was princesse.

“To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, 85
Adornd with purest golde and precious stone,
To tell my riches and endowments rare,
That by my foes are now all spent and gone,
To tell my forces, matchable to none,
Were but lost labour that few would beleeve, 90
And with rehearsing would me more agreeve.

“High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters,
Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces,
Large streetes, brave houses, sacred sepulchers,
Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries 95
Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries,—­
All those, O pitie! now are turnd to dust,
And overgrowen with blacke oblivions rust.

“Theretoo, for warlike power and peoples store
In Britannie was none to match with mee, 100
That manie often did abie full sore: 
Ne Troynovant*, though elder sister shee,
With my great forces might compared bee;
That stout Pendragon to his perill felt,
Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt. 105
  [* Troynovant, London]

“But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse,
Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought;
Bunduca! that victorious conqueresse,
That, lifting up her brave heroick thought
Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, 110
Fought, and in field against them thrice prevailed: 
Yet was she foyld, when as she me assailed.

“And though at last by force I conquered were
Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall,
Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, 115
And prizde with slaughter of their generall,
The moniment of whose sad funerall,
For wonder of the world, long in me lasted,
But now to nought, through spoyle of time, is wasted.

“Wasted it is, as if it never were; 120
And all the rest that me so honord made,
And of the world admired ev’rie where,
Is turnd to smoake that doth to nothing fade;
And of that brightnes now appeares no shade,
But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell 125
With fearfull fiends that in deep darknes dwell.