O man have mind of that last bitter throw
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.
XLII
The sixt had charge of them now being dead,
In seemely sort their corses to engrave,
And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed,
That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave
They might appeare, when he their soules shall save.[°]
The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould,