And first before they sent me forth.
Through this unpitying world to run,
They robb’d Sir Eustace of his worth,
Lands, manors, lordships, every one;
So was that gracious man undone,
Was spurn’d as vile, was scorn’d as poor,
Whom every former friend would shun,
And menials drove from every door.
Then rose ill-favour’d Ones, whom none
But my unhappy eyes could view,