Spares not the blood deduc’d from his owne sire:
Poore orphanes blood, pris’d at a crowne’s rich wealth,
To his sicke state can only promise health.
54.
Whilst euery where his wandring eye doth range
To find some wretch to put this taske vpon,
All things about vs haue a sudden change,
Vngrac’d, not car’d for, comforted of none,
By our owne seruants we are left alone:
Those that bemone our fortunes dare not stay,