Which made me aske of him, that did it beare,
If any one before the same did weare:
Who told me of the king’s disdainfull scorne,
And how by chance the same by him was torne.
119.
Affliction bleeding fresh at this wide wound,
My heart griefe’s burthen could no longer beare,
But downe I cast my selfe vpon the ground,
Where I with wretched hands, the hoarie heare
From off my aged head, alas, did teare,