And in her wombe such ghastly wounds had made,
But as a nation borne of viper’s brood,
O shame to tell, did daily sucke her blood.
15.
Great queene of sea-siedg’d iles, what canst thou show
Of that good hap, when Edward thy late king
Did safely bulwarke thee against thy foe?
Thy Edward now doth with his minions sing,
While thou thy hands in wretchednesse dost wring:
And Brewse doth mangle thee with many a scarre,