“O Queene (quoth shee) let me more rather die
Than shee that’s giltlesse should: for why, thy king
Did as his captiue her to lewdnes bring.”
39.
Which when I sawe the kindnes of the childe,
It burst my heart much more then dome of death:
Poore little lambe, with countenaunce how milde
Shee pleaded still: and I for want of breath,
(With woefull teares that lay her feete beneath)
Could not put foorth a word our liues to saue,