To make him king that hee might make mee chiefe,
Downe throwe wee straith his seely nephues tway,
From princes pompe, to woefull prisoners life:
In hope that nowe stint was all furder strife:
Sith hee was king, and I chiefe stroke did beare,
Who ioyed but wee, yet who more cause to feare?
29.
The guiltles bloud which wee vniustly shed,
The royall babes deuested from theyr throne,
And wee like traytours raigning in theyr sted,