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| Am the Recusant, in that resolute State [f. 30v] |
| What hurtes it Mee to bee Excomunicate? |
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| Elegie .10. |
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| Till I haue Peace with thee, warre other Men |
| And when I haue Peace, can I leave thee then? |
| All other Warres are scupelous;* onelie Thou |
| O faire free Cittie maist thy self allow |
| To anie one: In Flanders who can tell |
| Whether the Master presse or Men rebell? |
| Onelie wee know that, wch all Ideotts say |
| They beare most Blowes, wch come to part the Fray; |
| France in her lunatique giddines did hate |
| Ever our Men, yea and our God of late. |
| Yet shee relyes vpon our Angelles well |
| Which nere returne; Noe more then they wch fell; |
| Sick Ireland is with a strang Warre possest, |
| Like to an Ague, now raging, now at rest, |
| Which Time will cure; yet it must doe her good |
| If shee were purg'd, and her head vayne lett blood. |
| And Midas ioyes, our Spanish Iourneyes giues |
| Wee touch all Gold, but find noe food to live. |
| And I should bee in the hott parching Clyme
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[CW: To] |