Not so contented were wee with the pray:
But fearing lest shee should recouer ayde,
I sent in hast to prison her away,
And all recourse of messengers denayd.
Thus when shee sawe her Maiesty decayd,
And that her griefes and sorowes daily grew,
In pryson at the length her selfe shee slewe.
10.
O caytife vile, should I constrain’d a Queene,[510]
That Iustice ment, her kingdome to forsake?