For evere yit it hath so stonde,
That god a tirant overladde;
Bot wher Pite the regne ladde,
Ther mihte no fortune laste
Which was grevous, bot ate laste
The god himself it hath redresced.
Pite is thilke vertu blessed 3260
Which nevere let his Maister falle;
Bot crualte, thogh it so falle
That it mai regne for a throwe,