Her brother’s death, (pore wretch), lamenteth sore.
Him Seneca doth persuade, his latter loue,
Dame Poppie, Crispyne’s wife that sometime was,
And eake Octauias maide, for to remoue.
For Senecks counsel he doth lightly passe[19]
But Poppie ioynes to him in marriage rites.
The people wood[20] unto his pallace runne,
His golden fourmed shapes[21]; which them sore spytes,
They pull to ground: this uprore, now begunne,
To quench, he some to griesly death doth send.