The losse of crowne, the losse of all my right,
The losse of freedome and my bodie’s sight.
30.
Scarce had the hand of vnimpeached death,
Clos’d vp the eyes of England’s conquering king:
But fame, whose listning eares feeles euery breath
Of whispering rumour, set him selfe on wig,
And ouer seas to vs did tidings bring,
That our dread sire was to his graue gone downe,
And vnto Rufus had bequeath’d his crowne.