TO MASTER W. MONTAGUE by THOMAS CAREW

SIR, I arrest you at your country's suit,
Who, as a debt to her, requires the fruit
Of that rich stock which she by Nature's hand
Gave you in trust, to th' use of this whole land.
Next, she indicts you of a felony,
For stealing what was her propriety,
Yourself, from hence: so seeking to convey
The public treasure of the State away.
More, y' are accus'd of ostracism, the fate
Impos'd of old by the Athenian state
On eminent virtue; but that curse which they
Cast on their men, you on your country lay;
For, thus divided from your noble parts,
This kingdom lives in exile, and all hearts
That relish worth or honour, being rent
From your perfections, suffer banishment.
These are your public injuries; but I
Have a just private quarrel to defy,
And call you coward, thus to run away
When you had pierc'd my heart, not daring stay
Till I redeem'd my honour; but I swear
By Celia's eyes, by the same force to tear
Your heart from you, or not to end this strife
Till I or find revenge or lose my life.
But as in single fights it oft hath been
In that unequal equal trial seen,
That he who had receiv'd the wrong at first
Came from the combat oft too with the worst;
So, if you foil me when we meet, I 'll then
Give you fair leave to wound me so agen.

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