Who can withstand a puissaunt king’s disire?
The stiffest stones are perced through with tooles,
The wisest are with princes made but fooles.
18.
Yf kynde had wrought my forme in common frames,
And set mee forth in coulours blacke and browne,
Or beauty had beene percht in Phœbus’ flames,
Or shamefast wayes had pluckt my fethers downe,
Then had I kept my fame and good renowne:
For nature’s gifts were[1977] cause of all my greefe: