A thousande euils, disdayne with al your might
Her luring lookes: she me a wretched wyght,
Transformde, and made with Circe’s sorcerie,
A brutishe beast, and worse if worse may be.
49.
When Thanatos had thus destroyed my dayes,
Then due desert my soule to hel conuayde:
I fearde not God, his name I did not prayse,
But foolishe fate and fortune stil me stayde:
For which, with pinching payne, I nowe am payde.