Out of his quiet slomber him abrade,
Nor seeme too suddeinly him to inuade:
Still as she stood, she heard with grieuous throb
Him grone, as if his hart were peeces made,
And with most painefull pangs to sigh and sob,
That pitty did the Virgins hart of patience rob.
At last forth breaking into bitter plaintes ix
He said; O soueraigne Lord that sit’st on hye,
And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed Saintes,
How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty,