As he ascends, he sees their blood thereon:
Set in his chaire, shame whispers in his eare
That’s not his place, his nephew should be there:
Doubt askes him, how he hopes t’enioy that long,
When they do liue, whose right he keepes by wrong.
53.
He that had drunke so oft of murder’s cup,
To reach that height to which he did aspire,
Now fils the measure of his mischiefe vp,
And in vaine hope to raise his heart yet higher,