 | The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards |  |
To my deseruing Friend, the Author.
Were
those Tragedians, whom the world so fame,
For their ingenious and admired straine,
Aliue, to see this Poem, and thy Name,
Asham'd they'd dye, finding their Lines too vaine.
For their ingenious and admired straine,
Aliue, to see this Poem, and thy Name,
Asham'd they'd dye, finding their Lines too vaine.
Were that pure Spring the winged hoofe brought forth,
Wanting supply, dry'd vp, thy abler Pen
Would worke a second wonder by it's worth,
In making it a running streame agen.
Wanting supply, dry'd vp, thy abler Pen
Would worke a second wonder by it's worth,
In making it a running streame agen.
Be then assur'd, this Tragick straine shall liue
A patterne for th'next age to imitate,
And to the best wits of our times shall giue
Iust cause of enuy, for thy learned Fate.
A patterne for th'next age to imitate,
And to the best wits of our times shall giue
Iust cause of enuy, for thy learned Fate.
Rob: Ellice.
| The tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards | |