[522]

I may complaine that felt god Mars his rage,

Alas, that fate to state should be so fell;

Had I been meaner borne I know right well. N.

[523] While that my kingly sire, Gorbodug, raign’d. N.

[524] Not sticke oft times in field to fight. N.

[525]

Into her bowels by the force of hand,

With steele and iron we do dig profound,

Working her woe to make our ioyes abound. N.