To my louing Cousin Da: Murray.
Faire
Sophonisba on her tragike stage,
(To death, or bondage worse then death design'd)
Doth shew the greatness of a proud grieu'd minde,
Th' ambitious thoughts of Scipio to asswage:
With courage farre aboue her sex and age,
She quafs the cup her loue-sick Lord propin'd,
By which although her liues-thred was vntwyn'd,
Yet she triumphs aboue the Roman rage:
Thrice happy Queene, and more then happy thrice,
Who finds a rare Physition with such skil,
To rob the Fates of thee there lawfull prize,
By vertue of his euer-liuing quil,
And makes that poyson which bereft thy breath,
By power of his pen, to poyson death.
Your louing Cousin. Iohn Mvrray.
