ABSTRACT
The Tragedy of Alltollie 38 I I love: nay burne in fire of her love: 910 Each day, each night hir Image haunts my minde. Her selfe my dreames: and still I tired am, And still I am with burning pincers nipt. Extreame my harme: yet sweeter to my sence Then boiling Torch of jealous torments fire: This griefe, nay rage, in me such sturre doth keepe, And thornes me still, both when I wake and sleepe.
