Horror pursues the homicide’s sad soule,
Feare hunts his conscience with an hue and crie,
That drinkes the blood of men in murder’s bowle,
Suspitious thoughts do rest in life denie,
Hate seldome suffers him in peace to die,
By heau’n’s inuiolate doome it is decreed,
Whose hands shed blood, his heart in death should bleed.
2.
I was to noble Yorke the yongest sonne
Of foure, which he begot in lawfull bed,