We hugg, imprison, hang, and save,
This foe, this friend, our Lord, our slave.
While thus I hang, you threatned see
The fate of him that stealeth mee.
More verses by William Strode
- Consolatorium, Ad Parentes
- Keepe On Your Maske And Hide Your Eye
- A New Year's Gift
- For A Gentleman, Who, Kissinge His Friend At His Departure Left A Signe Of Blood On Her
- An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great London Benefactor, And His Executor