Through our neglect of homage to be made,
Constrain’d thereto by our home-bred debate,
Valoys her brother did our lands inuade,
And through late wounds made in our mangled state,
In armes vnable to withstand his hate:
To treate with him of peace our queene we sent,
In her vow’d faith being too too confident.
83.
O powre diuine, what mortall wight hath wings
To soare the height of thy vnknowne decree?