And what my birth did claim, my death hath paid.
UPON
MISTRIS MALLET[56],
AN
UNHANDSOME GENTLEWOMAN,
WHO MADE LOVE UNTO HIM.
Have I renounc’t my faith, or basely sold
Salvation, and my loyalty, for gold?
Have I some forreigne practice undertooke
By poyson, shott, sharp-knife, or sharper booke
To kill my king? have I betrayd the state
To fire and fury, or some newer fate,
Which learned murderers, those grand destinies,