Or as with sun the morning dewe doth passe,
And quiet calme makes cleare a troubled skye:
So prince’s powre, at twinkling of an eye,
Sets vp a lofte a favret on the wheele,
When giddy braynes about the streetes doe reele.
17.
They are but blinde that wake where fortune sleepes,
They worke in vayne that striue with streame and tyde:
In double garde, they dwell that destnye keepes,
In simple sorte they liue that lacke a gyde: