The traytor A tragedie, written by Iames Shirley. Acted by her Majesties Servants
By her Majesties Servants.
Printed for William Cooke, and are to be sold st his Shop at Furnivals Inne-gate in Holborne. 1635.
PUBLISHED FOR William Cooke
I see thy noble brother hath bin faithfull
To my desires, he has prepar'd thee with
A storie of my love, which thou rewardst
With too much humblenesse: thou hast a quarrell,
And a just one with thy Stars, that did not make thee
A Princesse Amidea, yet th'art greater,
Aud borne to justifie unto these times
A Queene of Love, Venus was but thy figure,
And all her graces prophesies of thine,
To make our last age best; I could dwell ever
Here, and imagine I am in a Temple,
To offer on this Altar of thy lip,
Myriads of flaming kisses with a cloude
Of sighes breathd from my heart,
Which by the oblation would increase his stocke,
To make my pay eternall.
What meane you?
That question is propounded timely, hadst
Not interrupted me, I should ha lost
My selfe upon thy lips, and quite forgot
There is a blisse beyond it, which I came for:
Let others satisfie themselves to reade
The wonders in thy face, make proud their eye,
By seeing thine, turne statues at thy voice,
And thinke they never fixe enough to heare thee.
A man halfe dead with famine, would wish here
To feed on smiles, of which the least hath power
[...] an Anchorite from his prayers, tempt Saints
[...] their bodies on, thou dost with [...]ase
[...] aptivate Kings with every beame, and maist
Lead them like prisoners round about the world,
[...]roud of such golden chaines; this were enough,
Had not my Fate provided more, to make me
Beleeve my selfe immortall in thy touches,
Come to thy bed, transforme me there to happinesse;
Ile laugh at all the fables of the gods,
And teach our Poets after I know thee,
To write the true Elizium.