From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight:
To you th’inheritance belongs by right
Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his loue.
Let not his loue, let not his restlesse spright
Be vnreueng’d, that calles to you aboue
From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth endlesse moue.
Thereto said he, Faire[170] Dame be nought dismaid xlix
For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone:
Ne yet of present perill be affraid;
For needlesse feare did neuer vantage none,