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The Tragedy of Mariam

Elizabeth Cary
Mistake me not, my lord. Too oft have I
Desired this time to come with winged feet
To be enwrapped with grief when tis too nigh
You know my wishes ever yours did meet.
If I be silent, tis no more but fear
That I should say too little when I speak,
But since you will my imperfections bear,
In spite of doubt, I will my silence break.
Yet might amazement tie my moving tongue,
But that I know before Pheroras mind.
I have admired your affection long
And cannot yet therein a reason find.
Your hand hath lifted me from lowest state
To highest eminency, wondrous grace,
And me, your handmaid, have you made your mate
Though all but you alone do count me base.
You have preserved me pure at my request
Though you so weak a vassal might constrain
To yield to your high will. Then, last not best,
In my respect, a princess you distain.
Then need not all these favours study crave
To be requited by a simple maid?