Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering stateHath fraught with cares my troubled wit,Whose witness this present prison lateCould bear, where once was joy's loan quit.Thou causedst the guilty to be loosedFrom bands where innocents were inclosed,And caused the guiltless to be reserved,And freed those that death had well deserved.But all herein can be nothing wrought,So God send to my foes all they have thought.
Written on a Wall at Woodstock
written byElizabeth I
© Elizabeth I
