Poems By Thomas Carevv Esquire. One of the gentlemen of the Privie-Chamber, and Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty.

To Master W. Moun∣tague.

SIR, I arest you at your Countreyes suit, Who as a debt to her, requires the fruit Of that rich stock; which she by Natures hand Gave you in trust, to th'use of this whole Land. Next, she endites you of a Felonie, For stealing, what was her Proprietie. Your selfe from hence, so seeking to convey The publike treasure of the state away. More, y'are accus'd of Ostracisme, the Fate Impos'd of old by the Athenian state On eminent vertue, but that curse which they Cast on their men, You on your Countrey lay. For, thus divided from your noble parts This Kingdome lives in exile, and all hearts That rellish worth, or honout, being rent From your perfections, suffer banishment: These are your publike injuries; but I Have a just private quarrell to defie

And call you Coward, thus to run away When you had pierc'd my heart, not daring stay Till I redeem'd my honour; but I sweare By Celia's eyes, by the same force to teare Your heart from you, or not to end this strife Till I or find revenge, or lose my life. But as in single fights it oft hath beene In that unequall equall tryall seene, That he who had receiv'd the wrong at first, Came from the Combat ost too with the worst; So if you foyle me when we meet, I'le then Give you fayre leave to wound me so agēn.