University of Virginia Library

Your Nephew, Sir, by th' Prince freed from the stake,
Is gon to Court, Your self same Place must take
To Morrow's noon, by Archers there shot Dead;
Near Ten i'th' Morn the Lady's ravished.
I'm Friend to both, shall safe convey from thrall,
Twelve th' Hour to Night: false Hair and Beard withall
That Trunk does hold, Coat too by chance, large siz'd,
Wait then for me, if lov'd your Life, disguis'd.