Startles[1598] with pangs tyll hee fall on the grasse,
And, in great feare, lies gasping there a space,
Forth braying sighes, as though ech pang had brought
The present death, which hee doth dread so oft:
35.
So wee, deepe wounded with the bloudy thought,
And gnawing worme that greu’d[1599] our conscience so,
Neuer tooke ease, but as our heart out brought[1600]
The strayned[1601] sighes in witnes of our woe,
Such restles cares our fault did well beknowe: