 | Ivvenilia |  |
322
To the Honest Courtiers.
Bvt You, whose onely worth doth colour giveTo Them that they do worthy seem to live,
Kinde Gentlemen, your aide I crave to bring
A Satyre to the presence of his King,
A show of rudenesse doth my forehead arm,
Yet you may rust him, he intends no harm.
He that hath sent him, loyall is, and true,
And one whose love (I know) is much to you:
But now he lies bound to a narrow scope;
Almost beyond the Cape of all good Hope.
Long hath he sought to free himselfe, but fails:
And therefore seeing nothing else prevails,
Me to acquaint his Soveraigne here he sends,
As one desparing of all other friends.
I do presume that you will favour show him,
Now that a messenger from thence you know him,
For many thousands that his face ne'er knew,
Blame his Accusers, and his fortunes rue:
And by the help which your good word may doe,
He hopes for pitty from his Soveraigne too.
Then in his presence with your favours grace him,
And there's no Vice so great shall dare out-face him.
| Ivvenilia | |