Of all foule ils most aduerse vnto good,
Vengeance pursues the blushing sinne of blood,
Blood out of earth with cries importunes heau’n
To grant reuenge, vntill reuenge be giuen.
62.
Vnto a sinfull wight, though time do seeme
With wings of waste his shame away to wipe,
Although the king of heau’n secure he deeme:
Yet when his sore of sinne is waxen ripe,
Of his smart scourge he feeles the bitter stripe,