 | The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards |  |
To his much-honour'd friend, the Author.
Let
not loud Enuy's sulph'rous blasts cast forth
Venom'd aspersions, on thy noble worth:
'Gainst saucy Criticks thou need'st no defence,
Whose sacred lines, arm'd with sweet eloquence,
Are proofe against their censures, whoo'd prophane,
With their bold breath, the glory of thy straine:
Wise came shall sing the prayse of thy deserts,
And voyce thee glorious both in Armes and Arts.
Whilst thou, releast from the Warres sad mishaps,
Rests in soft dælliance on the Muses laps;
Those beautious Ladies loue shall high aduance
Thy fame, whose worth exceeds my vtterance.
Venom'd aspersions, on thy noble worth:
'Gainst saucy Criticks thou need'st no defence,
Whose sacred lines, arm'd with sweet eloquence,
Are proofe against their censures, whoo'd prophane,
With their bold breath, the glory of thy straine:
Wise came shall sing the prayse of thy deserts,
And voyce thee glorious both in Armes and Arts.
Rests in soft dælliance on the Muses laps;
Those beautious Ladies loue shall high aduance
Thy fame, whose worth exceeds my vtterance.
Their Tragicke falles, who in thy Scenes appeare,
Shall on these Monuments faire Trophees reare
Vnto their Fame. Thus are thy workes become
To be to them, as their Elizium.
Shall on these Monuments faire Trophees reare
Vnto their Fame. Thus are thy workes become
To be to them, as their Elizium.
Tho: Ellice.
| The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards | |