When still I stood to ease me of such woe,
Yet worse then painfull wounds increast my smart
As oft as I about the stake did go,
Then in this pitious plight, what should I do?
Death’s touch I felt: yet by my foes made blind,
The readie way to death I could not find.
61.
At length my soule vnable to withstand
Th’afflictions of my foes, in heart made stout
With torment of my wounds, I hand in hand