26.
Could enuie find a darker cloud of shame,
Wherewith t’obscure the shine of my renowne?
Could fate for future woes more fitly frame
The houres of time, to cause the conqueror frowne,
Then when in death, he should dispose the crowne?
Enuie, fate, time and all things else agree,
To crosse that man, t’whom fortune crosse wil bee.
27.
The sickly king my sire, whose daies were done,