Lone Mona's sea-girt isle he dares with spear and flashing sword, Usurping regal rule and right by power of pirate horde; Yet vengeance drear, and dark desert of direst actions, crave A bloody death, a justice clear, and dark usurper's grave.

Now by this Hilt, this golde was earn'd too deare: Ah, how now death, wilt thou be conquerour? Then vengeance light on them that made me so, And ther's another farewell ere I goe.

My musicke is a Canon; a pitcht field my stage; Furies the Actors, blood and vengeance the scaene; death the story; a sword imbrued with blood the pen that writes; and the Poet a terrible buskind Tragical fellow with a wreath about his head of burning match instead of Bayes.