65.
But what preuaylde the people’s pitie there?
This raging wolfe would spare no giltless blood:
Oh wicked wombe that such ill fruit did beare,
Oh cursed earth, that yeeldeth forth such mud:
The hell consume all things that did thee good,
The heauens shut their gates agaynst thy spreete,
The world tread downe thy glory vnder feete.
66.
I aske of God a vengeaunce on thy bones,