I shall smother or split with teen:
Like a spider I swell with spite;
From my wits I be thrust out quite
At the tidings that I hear.
The old thief, in the castle that was locked tight,
He is got from Grave scot-free and clear.
Now all my comfort is but drear,
And the young duke, whom I obeyed,
Will shortly have but sorry cheer.
Such woe is me that I am near