 | The Traytor |  |
To my Friend Maister Iames Shirley, the Authour.
Friend , how I haste into that name? my quillRuns fraught with my whole soule, and feares to spill
One drop before it; proud to have men know
The glory of the name thou didst bestow.
And to derive Eternity thereto
From this learn'd Worke, which Marble could not doe:
Ambitious to posterity to send
For light to both, thy Traytor and thy Friend.
This, and I've sayd; for Friend I stand not here
To praise, or in thy quarrell spend my ieere
On some third man, nor Court I, I professe
The humorous Reader into Gentlenesse:
No Friend, thou Writ'st before, thy selfe, and when
Shirley is nam'd, Praise is the same agen.
Will Atkins of Grayes Inne:
| The Traytor | |