Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt! Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate Could beare me, and the joys I quitt. Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed: Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved, And freeing those that death had well deserved. But by her envie can be nothing wroughte, So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. signed - A. D. MDLV. Elizabethe, Prisonner.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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