I thought, that while this noble king had breath,
His friends my brother’s peace would still inuade:
Wherefore I did contriue his sudden death,
And in the Tower the butcher’s part I plaide,
For th’hatefull point of that same bloodie blade,
Scarce cold with luke-warm blood of his owne sonne,
Vnlooked for, I through his sides did runne.
17.
He dead, the battels fought in field before,
Were turn’d to meetings of sweet amitie,