Th’inueterate wounds of wrong infixt so deepe,
Against my barons in my swolne heart,
With drops of blood now made afresh to weepe,
That I from Brewse should thus with shame depart,
Did so augment my mind’s impatient smart,
That by my peeres mine ire now new stirr’d vp,
I with their blood quencht in Bellonae’s cup.
38.
What they do plot is by my powre controul’d,
What I intend, vnreuerently they crosse: