Should choake daie’s light and put out Phœbus lampe.
131.
Then do they set me on a beast foreworne
In stead of stately steed, whereon to ride,
And for no crowne I had my head t’adorne,
Bare I do sit, except the heau’n to hide
My woefull head all couering they denide,
While sharp winds in my face the weather blowes,
And with their nipping cold augments my woes.
132.