Now, if thou art to dye no whit afrayde,
Here shalt thou choose of Instruments (beholde)
Shall rid thy restlesse life, of this be bolde.”
38.
And therewithall shee threwe her garments lap aside,
Vnder the which a thousand thinges I sawe with eyes:
Both kniues, sharpe swordes, poynadoes[490] all bedyde
With bloud, and poysons prest which shee could well deuise.
“There is no hope (quoth shee) for thee to rise,
And get thy Crowne or Kyngdome refte agyne:[491]