Wee see him lyue when that his lorde is dead,
Hee slepeth sounde, is mery at his boorde,
No sorrowe in his harte doth vexe his head:
Happy [then] is he that pouerty can wed:
What gayne the mighty conquerours[1855] when they be dead,
By all the spoyle, and bloud that they haue shed?
65.
The terrible towre[1856] where honour hath his seate,
Is hye on rockes more slipper then the yse,
Where still the whorleing wynde doth roare and beate,