 | The tragedy of Mvstapha |  |
Scena. I.
Achmattalone.
In what Dilemma of mischance stand I,
Vs'd by the subtile Art of wicked gouernement,
To serue a tyrants turne with faith and honestie.
Plac'd ouer men, whome vniust rage doth iustly moue.
I am either in heate of heady mutinie
To die; or scaping by respect, that saftie may
Suspition to my selfe and honour lay,
Destinie hath shot the shaft and it must light.
To stirre or paine against the streame of fate,
Which mooues from ill deserts, it is too late.
Innocence and faith from safe estates ouerthrow,
For floods of error from authoritie,
The multitude hath easily ouerthrowen,
For when Kings states must ------ and must fall,
Iustice diuides not there, but ruines all.
But looke where Rossa comes like Aprill waters,
Both gusts and cleaues in stormie forhead carrying,
Like power, that with it selfe doth feare miscarying.
| The tragedy of Mvstapha | |