Many that would in loue, yet dare not stay:
This was my fate, thus did false fortune frowne,
Ah God, that euer king was so cast downe!
125.
Yet fortune hath not spent her vtmost hate,
With patience we must arme our selues more strong,
Scarce will fraile eares belieue what we relate,
When now thy muse shall tune her mournefull song,
To sadder times that she may waile that wrong,
To which with griefe for guide we now proceed,