Were I his jaylor, And so affected unto Fredericks life, The fearfull'st tyrant nor the cruell'st plagues That ever lighted on tormented soules, Should make me yeeld my prisoner to their hands.

Nature unto her selfe is too unkind To buzze such scruples into Fredericks minde; Twas a device of man to avoid selfe love, Else every pleasure in one stocke should move, Beautie in grace part never from the kinne.