Now as the chance of war's, not sure at all,
So may it be his fortune, for to fall.
Which if he shoo'd, I'me sure that you woo'd give,
Those Lords, and Kingdom too, to make him live.
Besides the Princess, whom you tender so,
If that she shoo'd be taken, by the foe,
You are not certain, how they'le use her Sir,
Which may hereafter, cause an endless stir
Between your Highness, and the King of Spain,
Treating so ill, his daughter and her Train.
Shoo'd you o'recome, which is the most you can
Expect, or look for, at the hands of man:
D' you think a stranger, having taken foot,
Will home return, without some other boot?
No, no, believe me, he will make you ••ight,
Before hee'le go, for that which is your Right▪
The French likewise Sir, having nought to do,
Will lose no time, you may be sure on't too:
But will make hay, whil'st that the Sun shall shine,
Pretending to your party, to encline:
But when they're in, the way to get them out,
Will be no easie matter too, no doubt.
In story we may read, some such event,
When King, and Subject, have had discontent:
Whereas if you your peoples, love coo'd gain
You need not care a fig, for France nor Spain.
There's nee're a stroke struck yet, one word may now,
Do that which one day, you may not know how.
King.
What sayes the Traytor? take him hence to dwell,
With those infernal fire-brands of Hell.
What mak'st thou me? a Coward? or a King?
Thou foul-mouth'd-fellow, to utter such a thing.