Wylde wengand on such ire, wherby the realme doth lose,
What gayne haue they, which heaue at honour soe?
At home disdayne and greefe, abroade they frend their foes:
I must bee playne in that which wrought my webs of woe,
My webs (qd.[1879] I:) would God they had wrought no moe:
It was the cause of many a bleeding English breaste,
And to the French, their end of woefull warres addresse.
53.
I dare aduouche yf they had firme in frendship boade,
And soothly, as beseemde, ioynde frendly hand with hands,