re she had retired to enjoy the silent
pleasures of a studious life, and to be distant from the dangerous
politics of the time. When Mary died, Elizabeth was still at Hatfield.
At the time of its composition she was in habitual intercourse with the
most excellent writers of antiquity: her letter displays this in every
part of it; but it is too rhetorical. It is here now first published.

LETTER.

"Like as the riche man that dayly gathereth riches to riches, and to one
bag of money layeth a greate sort til it come to infinit, so me thinkes,
your Majestie not beinge suffised with many benefits and gentilnes
shewed to me afore this time, dothe now increase them in askinge and
desiring wher you may bid and comaunde, requiring a thinge not worthy
the desiringe for it selfe, but made worthy for your highness request.
My pictur I mene, in wiche if the inward good mynde towarde your grace
might as wel be declared as the outwarde face and countenance shal be
seen, I wold nor haue taried the comandement but prevent it, nor haue
bine the last to graunt but the first to offer it. For the face, I
graunt, I might wel blusche to offer, but the mynde I shall neur be
ashamed to present. For thogth from the grace of the pictur, the coulers
may fade by time, may giue by wether, may be spotted by chance, yet the
other nor time with her swift winges shall ouertake, nor the mistie
cloudes with their loweringes may darken, nor chance with her slipery
fote may ouerthrow. Of this althogth yet the profe could not be greate
because the occasions hath bine but smal, notwithstandinge as a dog
hathe a day, so may I perchaunce haue time to declare it in dides wher
now I do write them but in wordes. And further I shal most humbly
beseche your Maiestie that whan you shal loke on my pictur you wil
witsafe to thinke that as you haue but the outwarde shadow of the body
afore you, so my inwarde minde wischeth, that the body it selfe wer
oftener in your presence; howbeit bicause bothe my so beinge I thinke
coulde do your Maiestie litel pleasure thogth my selfe great good, and
againe bicause I se as yet not the time agreing ther[=u]to, I shal lerne
to folow this saing of Orace, Feras non culpes quod vitari non potest.
And thus I wil (troblinge your Maiestie I fere) end with my most humble
thankes, beseching God long to preserue you to his honour, to your
c[=o]fort, to the realmes profit, and to my joy. From Hatfilde this 1
day of May.

"Y