York And Lancaster

In Eden ground God bade to blow
    Hys roses white and red,
Ere yet man knew to hate hys foe
    Or pile thys earth with dead.
Then why, when Earth like Eden seems,
    Soe sweet the air with flowres,
Should princes sunder for their dreams
    Two hearts soe locked as ours.

Now Eden ground soe distant is,
    And man soe stubborn grown,
That not to gain lost Eden's bliss
    Will we to errour own:
Yea, thys I know, my heart shall break,
    And love itself lie dead,
Ere you your rose of white forsake
    Or I forswear the red.

Therefore within thys garden-close
    So glad with gold and green,
White bud by red this summer blows
    As nought had come between.
And God so spare the rose of white,
    And God so speed the red,
I may not hate thy conquering might,
    Nor, conquering, mourn thee dead.