 | The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards |  |
To my honor'd Friend, th'Author, on his Tragedy of the warlike Albouine.
Great Albouine, whose Fate in warre had cutHis passage through the neighb'ring Earth, and shut
Large Prouinces within his grasping palme,
Had sunke from honour in the patient calme
Of a long silenc't Fame, had not thy pen
(With soaring language) rays'd him vp agen.
He vowes, by coole Elizeum (from whence
He breath'd the valiant oath) he would dispense
With all those ioyes that court his soule, to fling
His open'd brest vpon the poys'nous sting
Of rougher warres, if the triumphant Bayes
Sprung from thy inke, might crowne his second prayse.
This is a Poets height; conquest by thee
Describ'd, becomes a double victory.
Rich: Clerk.
| The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards | |