Their stumbling steppes their giltie mindes doo feare,
They dayly see the blocke of bale appeare.
42.
With scalding sighes they doo themselues consume,
For feare to fal dooth yeelde none other fruite,
They rage with wrath, they dayly frette and fume,
Ruthful reuenge them alwayes hath in suite,
And right in time makes might both mum and mute:
For that which might by secret meanes hath wrought,
By tracte of tyme to open shewe is brought.