Whose woes wil make the hardiest heart to bleed.
126.
Our iealous queen, whom conscience doth torment,
Fearing lest Leicester so neare alli’d,
In pitie of our state should now relent,
Tels Torleton of her doubts what might betide,
If in his keeping we do still abide,
Who fearing vengeance for his owne offence,
Giues her his counsell to remoue me thence.
127.