 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena Tertia.
Spinola.As the slye Fowler, having over night,
Set cunningly his artificiall net,
Early returnes, with an assured hope
To finde the fowle insnar'd, so are my thoughts
Wholly possest with present expectation
Of the glad newes of my successefull plot;
The mannaging whereof, I never can
Within my selfe sufficiently applaud:
I have not like rash Piso, foolishly
Dispers't my trust, nor like the sonnes of Brutus,
Disclos'd my secret, where a servant might
Discover, and betray; my warinesse
In a safe garden whisper'd my designe,
And but to one, that if it should miscarry,
And he through feare or punishment confesse,
Yet I am sure to have but one accuser,
Would easily convince; but these mistrusts
Are altogether needlesse: I may be
As confident as those Sicilians,
Who when their chiefe confederate was surpriz'd,
So much relide upon his resolution,
As that not any one of them would flie,
And so conceale their bold conspiracy.
Behold my kinsmen bringing joyfull newes.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |