To norish thee, that all the worlde did hate:
Woe worth the gods that gaue thee such a fate,
To lyue so long, that death deserude so oft:
Woe worth the chaunce that set thee vp aloft.
68.*
Woe worth the day, the time, the howre, and all,
When subiects clapt the crowne on Richard’s head:
Woe worth the lordes, that sat in sumptuous hall,
To honour him that princes blood so shead:
Would God he had bin boyld in scalding lead,