At randome liu’de in lust as Lechers doe,
To slaughters fell, of friendes and kinred to,
Not sparing those in fleshly lustes desire,
Whome nature’s impes dombe beasts will not require.
3.
A shame it were to tell my hatefull life,
But he that wanted shame, whose face was brasse,
That spared neyther men, mayde, virgine, wife,
Not mother, sister, kinde, nor kin that was,
Whose factes both care and shame did alwayes passe: