If slie dissimulation credit winne
With any prince, that sits on highest throne,
With honied poyson of soure sugred sinne,
It causeth him turne tyrant to his owne,
And to his state workes swift confusion,
Aboue his cedar’s top it high doth shoot,
And canker-like deuoures it to the root.
3.
Of which that thou a perfect Mirrour haue,
The wronged ghost of that deposed king,