X

If ever any justly might complain Of unrequited service, it is I; Change is the thanks I have for loyalty, And only her reward is her disdain; So as just spite did almost me constrain, Through torment her due praises to deny, For he which vexed is with injury By speaking ill doth ease his heart of pain. But what, shall torture make me wrong her name? No, no, a pris'ner constant thinks it shame, Though he (were) racked his first truth to gainsay. Her true given praise my first confession is; Though her disdain do rack me night and day, This I confessed, and will deny in this.

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. London & Edinburgh