Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Lasse Johanson (Lucidor den olycklige)
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has never been proofread. / Denna sida har aldrig korrekturlästs.
And wbo can duly write tbat high renown,
You have deserved, restoring th’English crown?
Wbat labours more tbao Hercles You have done?
What victories more tbao Csesar You bave won?
Mornos himself, althoogh bes ever wrong,
Will jet admire theloquence of Yoor tongae.
Yoar foes and friends botb abroad and at bome
Witb force and wisdom You koow tovercome,
The friend by force of wit and pleasant words,
Yoor arm wil break tbe proadest ennemy’s swords.
Mars and Apollo are in striving mad,
Wbose glorions lanrels first Sbal crown Yoar head,
But (praj t’excnse me) I swear bj mj oatb,
Sir, You are twice more wortbj tbao tbem botb.
Stood not Mars self astonished, when he saw,
How Yoar sword could abolisb wrongful law?
And bow You could restore tbe kingdoms peace,
Troubled bj men of Cadmas’ dragon race?
Must not Apollo marvel and self crj:
Carlisle th’Ambas’dor is more fit tben I?
Did not tbe barbarous Rasses and their Czar
Amazed stand, when first Yoar brightfol star,
More clear tban Pboebus on tbeir bemispbere
And like Mars’ fiery planet did appear?
The Gimbers, too, were rawisht all no less,
Which with a trembling language did confess:
Thi8 is Carlisle “Broer lille“, so bigb befamed
Wbose name, bot spöken, all virtaes are named.
Sweden admireth thj very divine ghost,
And virtuoas proad doeth of ber fortane boast
To bave twice bad (my Lord, when tbey bad You)
Tbat English Mars and Englisb Venas too,
Wbose charming beaoty ecclipseth tbousand sans,
Witb lille Capid, which doetb fire tbe gans,
Despising darts; tbis babe of love lets see,
Beeing a cbild, a wonderous man to be:
Jupiter bearing tbis went to be bid,
He feared of bim what be to Satarn did.
I am no Prophet, bat I teil, ’tis true:
After twelve years the world sbal eee and you,
How bis rare virtaes tb’ wbole world wil move,
All men wil fear, all damseis wil bim love.
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
