All comfort els forclosde our exilde eyes.
21.
Loe, loe, from hiest top, the slauish boy
Sent vp, with sight of land our harts to ioy,
Descries at hand whole[1348] flete of Easterlinges,
As then hote enemies of the British kinges:
The mouse may somtyme helpe the lyon in neede,
The byttle bee once spilt the aegle’s breede:
O princes, seeke no foes, in your distresse,
The earth, the seas conspire your heauinessse.