A copie of verses, said to be composed by his Majestie, upon his first imprisonment in the Isle of Wight Brome, Alexander, 1620-1666. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A77609 of text R211001 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.13[25]). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 3 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A77609 Wing B4948A Thomason 669.f.13[25] ESTC R211001 99869743 99869743 162920 2240948999

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A77609) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 162920) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f13[25]) A copie of verses, said to be composed by his Majestie, upon his first imprisonment in the Isle of Wight Brome, Alexander, 1620-1666. Charles I, King of England, 1600-1649, attributed name. 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n., [London? : 1648] Not in fact by King Charles I, but a satire by Alexander Brome. Cf. Wing (2nd ed., 1994). Verse -- "Imprison me ye traytors! Must I be". Imprint suggested by Wing. Annotation on Thomason copy: "Sept ye 29th 1648". Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng Charles -- I, -- King of England, 1600-1649 -- Imprisonment -- Poetry. Political satire, English -- 17th century. Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. A77609 R211001 (Thomason 669.f.13[25]). civilwar no A copie of verses, said to be composed by his Majestie, upon his first imprisonment in the Isle of Wight. Brome, Alexander 1648 1 405 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2008-07 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-07 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-08 Sampled and proofread 2008-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A Copie of Verses , said to be Composed by His MAjESTIE , upon His first Imprisonment in the Isle of Wight . IMprison me ye Traytors ! Must I be Your fetter'd Slave , whilst you 'r at liberty ? T' usurpe my Scepter , and to make my power Gnaw its owne Bowels , and it selfe devoure ? You glorious Villaines ! Treasons that have beene Done in all Ages , are liv'd ore agen . Nimble Proficients ! you have far out-done Your Tutors presidents ; and have out-run The practice of all times : We see againe , A second Cesar by a Senate slaine : A State disturb'd by th' Gracchi ; and the times Spawning with Sylla's and the Catalines . The Villanies , and Treasons , which of old , Time has for Incredulity inroll'd , Are but mock-shews to yours , whose Acts will be Thought Legendary by Posterity . Was 't not enough you made me beare the wrong Of a Rebellious Sword , and worser Tongue , To take my Crowne , State , Children , Friends , and Wife , But will you have my Liberty , and Life ? 'Cause I le not signe , or give consent unto Those lawlesse Actions you have done , or doe ? Nor yet betray my Subjects , and so be As Treacherous to them as you to me ? Mistaken Fooles ! d' ee think my soule can be Grasp'd , or infring'd , by such low things as ye ? And does the Coronet forget his owne True Interest , to joynet to spurne the Crowne ? Can they not see , when th'Oake's cut downe , that all The Clambring Ivie downe with it must fall ? Subjects can have no safety but their graves , When Slaves doe sway , and Soveraignes are slaves . True hearts , I pitty still , whose Sufferings , And Remedies are twisted with the Kings . Alas ! though I 'm injur'd , my mind 's so free , I le make my very Gaole your Liberty . Plot , do your worst ; I safely shall deride , In my crown'd Soule , your base , inferior pride , And stand unmov'd , though all your plagues you bring , I le die a Martyr , or I le live a King . FINIS .