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 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Chorus
of two.
1
2
1
2
1
2
1
Love
built on vertue, cannot be
Led by a rash credulitie,
To entertaine reports that tend
To the dishonour of a friend.
True love is confident, a doubt
That slakes loves fire will put out.
Led by a rash credulitie,
To entertaine reports that tend
To the dishonour of a friend.
True love is confident, a doubt
That slakes loves fire will put out.
2
As they whose tongues are us'd to erre
Are not beleev'd, when they averre
That which is true, so when we know
A story false in part, we grow
Iealous of all; if truth once touch
On falshood, it is render'd such.
Are not beleev'd, when they averre
That which is true, so when we know
A story false in part, we grow
Iealous of all; if truth once touch
On falshood, it is render'd such.
1
When men in their revengefull hate
Doe study others ruines, Fate
Acts Iustice part, to let them see
They plotted their owne misery.
'Tis just that they themselves should finde,
What they to others have design'd.
Doe study others ruines, Fate
Acts Iustice part, to let them see
They plotted their owne misery.
'Tis just that they themselves should finde,
What they to others have design'd.
2
But how are these amaz'd, when they
Being about to seize their prey,
Finde themselves caught, yet doe not know
From whence they did receive the blow:
Like him that hid his gold in hope
To keepe it safe, but found a rope.
Being about to seize their prey,
Finde themselves caught, yet doe not know
From whence they did receive the blow:
Like him that hid his gold in hope
To keepe it safe, but found a rope.
1
Though they could blinde and bribe the law,
And keepe all witnesses in awe
By their great power, though they could make
By cunning the whole Stake mistake:
Yet can they be so void of sense,
To thinke to cozen Providence?
And keepe all witnesses in awe
By their great power, though they could make
By cunning the whole Stake mistake:
Yet can they be so void of sense,
To thinke to cozen Providence?
If mischiefe-workers would but bend
Their guilty thoughts, to weigh the end
Of their ill deeds, they would confesse,
No safety found in wickednesse.
How can those crimes that heaven doth see
And so abhor, unpunish't be?
Their guilty thoughts, to weigh the end
Of their ill deeds, they would confesse,
No safety found in wickednesse.
How can those crimes that heaven doth see
And so abhor, unpunish't be?
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |