They in their hard hearts feeling no remorce,
To heare poore soules powre forth such pitious mones,
As might with pitie moue the ruthlesse stones,
Holding the pillowes downe do stop our breath,
Vntill we both giue vp the ghost in death.
63.
Thus hast thou heard, how after all his cares
King Edward’s fruit did perish in the bud,
By which since we may see how pride prepares
Her passage through the spoile of common good,