The glorious troubles of the Court. For though
The vale lyes open to each overflow,
And in the humble shade we gather ill
And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill
Oth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we
May have more prospect, not securitie.
For when with losse of breath, we have orecome
Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome
On the so envi'd hill; how doe our hearts
Pant with the labour, and how many arts