And then, O horrid, shamefull thing to tell,
By force they thrust an hollow instrument
Much like a trumpe into my fundament,
By which they do preuent the mone I make
By sudden death, as thus to them I spake.
149.
“Ah why, why thus torment ye me with smart?
Leaue off to grieue:” not one word more I said,
They had by this time thrust me to the hart
With steele red hot: to sleepe me downe I laid,