With their shed blood thy lines I will not staine,
Whom wrackt by troops to graue his hand did send,
To him in his succeeding tragicke straine,
The sad report thereof I doe commend:
Enough it is to tell of our owne end,
To which I will proceede, first setting downe
The plots our vncle vs’d t’obtaine the crowne.
12.
When on the throne my kingly father sat,
All noise of warre new husht, euen in the greene