In middest of their mournfull Tragedy,
Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,
And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:
Their God himselfe, grieu’d at my libertie,
Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent,
But I them warded all with wary gouernment.
But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong, xi
Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound,
But will at last be wonne with battrie long,
Or vnawares[302] at disauantage found;