Tixall Poetry.
165
By mee her doubtfull fortunes tri'd,
Falling bequeathed my fame this pride;
I for it liv'd, and for it di'd.
Falling bequeathed my fame this pride;
I for it liv'd, and for it di'd.
Nor shal my vengeance be withstood,
Or unattended with a flood
Of Roman and Egiptian blood.
Or unattended with a flood
Of Roman and Egiptian blood.
Cesar himselfe it shall persue,
His dayes shall wretched be, and few,
And he shall fall by treason too.
His dayes shall wretched be, and few,
And he shall fall by treason too.
Hee, by severity devine,
Shall be an ofiring at my shrine;
As I was his, he must be mine.
Shall be an ofiring at my shrine;
As I was his, he must be mine.
Thy stormy life regret noe more,
For fate shall waft thee soone on shore,
And to thy Pom pie thee restore.
For fate shall waft thee soone on shore,
And to thy Pom pie thee restore.
Where free from feares of sad removes,
We'll entertaine our spotlesse loves,
In beautious and immortal! groves.
We'll entertaine our spotlesse loves,
In beautious and immortal! groves.
